For Your Eyes Only
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Modern Baxley Spy!AU. Follows their relationship as Joe returns from an extended stay in Russian custody. Will feature various characters. It's rated T but it's definitely going to go M at some point.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so here it is, my Baxley modern AU that I've been promising. This started because I got a prompt to write Baxley as Cold War spies; to which my reply was essentially "Well, I don't know an awful lot about the Cold War, can I interest you in a Spooks rip off instead?" And here it be. This is based on the premise that Phyllis and Joe went to university together, joined MI5 together, got married, and that he was kidnapped and held and interrogated in Russian custody over an extended period of time. This is hime coming back- but this is also one of my good old two chronology pieces so there is going to be some earlier too. I really hope you like this, because I have quite an extensive plan. xxx**

**2015**

The car was dark. It had been parked just out of the beam of the single street light which lit the empty stretch of road. Habitually early for this, as Charles was for everything else, they had already been there for fifteen minute and they had been silent almost ever since then, their conversation ceasing as Charles switched off the engine.

Phyllis checked her watch again and Charles' eyes followed hers. He could obviously see that she was getting restless.

"They'll be here," he assured her, "They're not due yet."

"You sure they're not trying to just draw this out?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "They have been known for it, the Russians."

"Well, perhaps," he conceded, "But they're always known to deliver too, in situations like this. They've never not returned a man that they've said they would."

"I know," she replied with a quiet sigh, "It's just, I've been waiting for this for so long. It seems unbelievable. I can't make myself believe that nothing's going to go wrong."

"I know," he replied gently, "I know it's hard. But it will be alright. We are going to get him back, Phyllis."

She gave him a strained smile, swallowing the lump in her throat, looking out of the windscreen again, not wanting him to be able to look directly at her face. She hadn't been around spies for a long time now and she found it freshly discomforting to sit there, exposed under Charles' contemplative look.

"Are you still living in your old place?" he asked her a moment later.

"You know where I live," she replied bluntly, giving him a very frank look.

Charles gave an appreciative sniff and a smile, acknowledging that she was right.

She pushed the hair away from the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"I didn't want to give up that flat and live somewhere else," she told him after a moment, "I wanted to stay where I'd been with him, where we'd lived together. I've tried not to change it too much. To have gone somewhere else would have felt too much like admitting defeat."

"Still, it was brave of you to wait out nine years," Charles told her, "Not many people have that much durability."

"You would have held out nine years for Elsie," Phyllis told him in reply, "Easily."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Yes, I think I probably would," he replied.

They were silent for a few more moments.

"I'm sure Elsie told you this," Charles started again, clearing his throat slightly, "But I still want to tell you myself, there is a very good system of support in place, should either of you need it, if any problems were to arise or… persist."

"I know," Phyllis replied briefly, "I've used it myself, remember?"

"I know that," Charles replied, "But things were rather different then. You were still a commissioned officer of the security services then,when you-… whereas now neither of you-…"

Phyllis' eyes flashed in the dark as she turned towards Charles.

"You're decommissioning Joe?" she asked incredulously.

Charles looked at her in something like confusion.

"I'm surprised that you think I would do anything other than decommission him," he replied honestly, "I have very little choice in the matter. The man's been in Russian custody for nine years," Phyllis did not flinch now as she used to do when her husband's situation was articulated out loud, "Obviously, we can't know what he's been through but from the reports we've had from our people and what we know from others who've been through similar things, someone in his position is the last person we can commission to work for us. Phil, you of all people have got to understand that."

"I do," she admitted reluctantly, after a moment, "But he's been in Russian custody for _nine years_, because he was working for you. You can't just throw him out the minute he comes back."

"I didn't say it was a permanent measure," Charles replied, calmly, "After he's had some time to adjust, he's more than welcome to his old job. That's if he wants it."

"Of course he'll want it," she replied immediately, not thinking about it, and then, to counter Charles slightly incredulous look, "He loves his job."

"He did love his job," he acknowledged calmly, "He loved being able to work with you."

When she did not say anything, he tilted his head a little, looking at her closely, "Have you thought about how you're going to tell him," he asked her, "That you're not with us any more?"

"He'll know soon enough," she replied shortly.

"So, no, then," Charles surmised, and she glared at him just a little. He looked apologetic, and went on in a much more conciliatory tone, "I suppose you're right, he'll know soon enough anyway. But," he ventured tentatively, "I think you should tell him sooner rather than later, and I would be glad if at least you told him before I discuss recommissioning him. He did _love _working with you."

"I know," she replied quietly, "I will talk to him."

"Thank you," Charles said softly, gratefully.

They were quiet for a few long moments.

"There will," Charles began slowly, "Be nights when he can't sleep. There will be difficult days too, and maybe panic attacks or nervous ticks or paranoia or depression-…"

"Charles, why are you doing this?" Phyllis asked him sharply, "Have you forgotten that I went through a fair few of them after Joe was taken and after-…"

"I know you did," Charles told her quickly, firmly, "And I know there's not much chance that you've forgotten about it. I'm just trying to treat you as I would the partner of any agent in circumstances like this."

"Well don't," Phyllis told him flatly, "Because Joe is not just any agent, and I am not just the wife of any agent. I get it, I understand it. And I'm going to get him through it," she told him firmly, "I am going to. I will."

"I'm sorry," he replied, "You're right, you don't want me lecturing you now."

She was quiet for a moment.

"I know I'm not saying that everything will go smoothly," she told him at last, her voice just a little uneven, "In fact, I know it's going to be exactly the opposite. But I am _so _looking forward to him being back here again. I don't care even if this makes things more difficult for me, just to know that he is safe will be worth it. I've missed him so much," she told him, "I'm looking forward to having him back _so _much."

Charles looked at her careful. She knew her former boss was not exactly one for overt displays of strong emotions, but still, as he looked at her his eyes widened kindly.

"I know you are," he replied softly, "And even if it doesn't go smoothly at first, you do deserve, more than anything, and eventually it will. God knows, you've waited long enough for this."

She sniffed a little.

"I just want him back," she told him softly, "That's all I can remember wanting now."

Charles gave her a sad smile.

"I know," he assured her again.

They were silent again.

"Have you thought about how you're going to tell him abou-…"

"Of course I've thought about it," she replied, sharply; knowing what he was talking about from the tone of his voice, "I could hardly not think about it. You've got to give me some time, Charles. I need to know how he is, Charles, how he really is, before I tell him that I'm not with the Service anymore, let alone before I tell him something like _that_."

Charles nodded calmly.

"I understand," he told her, "And if you want to talk about it with Elsie, or with me-.…Well, maybe just with Elsie, then," he replied, seeing her raised eyebrows, and acknowledging that she probably had a point, "You'd be more than welcome round at our place."

She smiled at him.

"That's very kind of you, Charles," she replied, "I'm very grateful. I mean it."

He gave her a smile in return.

"You're welcome," he replied.

As she faced him to return his smile, she saw the colour of his face light up. There was another car, facing theirs that had approached without its headlights on and was now beaming them forwards at them. They both turned around immediately.

"It's them," Charles told her, reaching for the car door, "Stay in the car."

"Like hell," she murmured, opening her door and getting out too.

Charles did not even look particularly surprised.

The doors of the Russian car had opened too. There was a man wearing glasses and a dark coat, almost indistinguishable from the night, standing in front of the bonnet of the car, looking at them both. He smirked at the sight of Phyllis.

"Mrs Molesley," he remarked, his native accent smooth and alms in distinguishable, "How nice of you to join us."

The cold of the night and the look on his face had piqued Phyllis' impatience.

"Where's my husband?" she asked plainly.

The man turned towards Charles.

"You have what we want?" he asked him.

Charles' gloved hand reached into him pocket, holding out a USB stick. It caught Phyllis' eye in the dark. She tired not to think about what might be on it. Tired not to think about what her husband was worth to these people.

Even so, as the man took it and quickly plugged it into the notebook he hand with him, she took a few steps closer to Charles.

"What was on it?" she could not stop herself from asking in a low murmur.

Charles looked down at her.

"Don't think about it," he advised her.

She let out a quiet sigh.

"This is in order," the man on the car told them.

Phyllis' heart jumped into her throat. She was so on edge that she flinched at the sound of the doors of the Russian car being opened and closed.

And then he was there, being led towards her through the dark and into the light of the street lamp, wearing dark clothes, she would have known him anywhere, even having lost weight and looking as worn as he did.

The Russians were getting back into their car, and backing out.

His eyes had focused in the dark, and he had seen that she was there. She watching him closely enough to see them widen in surprise, and, she thought, something like relief.

"Joe," she murmured, above the dimming sound of the engine.

She saw the corners of his mouth move upwards as he replied, "Phyllis."

His voice sounded a little hoarse, but ultimately the same. She was moving towards him.

And then, not caring that Charles was standing a few feet away from them, enfolded him carefully in her arms.

"Oh, my love," she murmured, pressing her face against his, breathing in the same old scent of him.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and reviewing the last chapter! I'm so glad you liked it; ****_so _****glad, really, me writing the second chapter at all was completely dependant on reviews because this story is going to take a lot of work; enough for it to not be worth it just for my own benefit. But you did like it, and here is the second chapter. As I said before, this is going to be a double chronology story, and this is the first chapter of the earlier strand of the plot. **

**1995**

As the car pulled up towards her through the dark, the window of the driver's seat visibly drawn down, Phyllis instinctively prepared to counter whatever unpleasantry was about to be flung at her and her friends with equal bile. Much to her surprise, the car slowed to a halt rather than passing her and instead of an unpleasant bawl coming from the window, a soft, familiar voice said; "Do you want a lift?"

"Joe?" she asked, frowning and surprised, moving to the edge of the pavement and leaning forwards to talk to him, "Since when do you have a car?"

He grinned back at her.

"Birthday present from my dad," he replied, "Anyway, I'm off home now, and wondered if you were heading that way too."

It was inviting; it was cold and she was getting tired and she didn't fancy the walk home, which she suspected she was just about too precariously tipsy for, even before the next half a bottle at Anna's.

"Well, I was going to go up to Anna's for a drink," she looked guiltily round at Anna and Daisy who were waiting for her a short distance away, "But I do have a 9am tomorrow, and I don't fancy-…"

"Go," Anna told her, "It's alright, you've got finals."

Phyllis smiled at her in reply.

"I'll look in next time I'm in college," she promised her, walking round to the other side of the car to get into the passenger seat.

"Sure," Anna replied, giving her a smile and Daisy waved goodbye.

She waved to them both as she opened the door and got in.

"Good night?" he asked her, waiting for her to put on her seat belt.

"Not bad," she replied as he pulled away from the curb, "We went to the pub with the downstairs lot who live in college and then to Thomas's gig for a bit."

"How was that?" he asked.

"Alright," she replied, "Bit of an acquired taste, but not too bad. But then it got a bit pushy so we thought it wasn't worth staying."

"Not with a 9am tomorrow," he remarked, then, frowning, "Since when do English students do 9ams?"

She rolled her eyes and gave a very disgruntled sigh.

"Since the delight that is Oxford finals," she replied gloomily.

"Tell me about it," he replied dryly, then, after a moment, "Look on the bright side, at least the language you study isn't dead."

She cast him an amused look.

"Surely that occurred to you before you applied for Classics?" she asked him. Definitely, she was more prone to teasing him after she'd had a drink or two. Or however many she'd had.

He shrugged, half smiling, his eyes on the road.

"It seemed a more attractive prospect when I was 18," he replied.

She smiled. That was something she could well believe. It was nice to be in a warm car after the cold of the street and the noise of the club and she settled back against the seat a little.

"Why didn't you come out tonight?" she asked him, "We'd have had fun. I feel like I haven't seen you properly in ages."

"I know," he replied, 'It's what the final year does to you, I suppose; you can live in the same building as your friends but hardly see them at all."

"It's shit," she grumbled, pulling the sleeves of her jacket a little bit further down, shuffling in her seat, "You should have come with us tonight."

"I had a translation to get done," he explained, "I've been in the library since about lunchtime. And, since the Union Christmas Ball I've been trying to limit myself, drink-wise," he admitted, "For obvious reasons."

"Oh," she replied, smiling at the memory of his very individual way of dancing after about three bottles of wine, laughing a little as she said; "God, that was a hell of a night."

"I know. I ended up crashed out on John's floor," he replied ruefully, "He was very good about it, considering. I can't have repeat of that, not until we're finished, at least."

"Fair enough," she replied with a grin, "But when we're done, we should definitely do something, together. We need to get fantastically drunk, at least one more time. I vaguely remember having a lot of fun with you on nights out, at some point in second year."

She could see him smiling. He obviously remembered too, perhaps more clearly than she did.

"Alright," he replied, "That sounds like fun. You've got yourself a deal."

She gave a little laugh, "Fantastic!" she replied, and then, a second later as wave of tiredness swept over her, "God, I feel drunk!"

"Do you?" he asked, surprised, "You don't seem it."

"It's just catching up with me now," she replied, "It was too loud in that place for me to really realise. And I've got considerably better at hiding being completely pissed over the course of the last few years."

"Haven't we all?" he replied wryly, and she snorted appreciatively.

"Barring the Christmas Ball," she reminded him.

"Barring the Christmas Ball," he conceded regretfully, and she chuckled again.

"It's nice to know we got something that we can actually use in the real world out of our degrees," she remarked, and he returned his agreement with a rueful laugh.

They were quiet for a few moments.

"I'm glad I picked you up," he told her seriously.

"So am I," she replied, when he did not say any more. She let a note of double entendre play in her voice and it caught his attention.

For a moment, he took his eyes off the road, giving her a quizzical look.

She smiled back at him, giving her best fallen woman look, and throwing in a roguish grin and a wink to boot.

He looked frankly alarmed for a second, and hastened to explain himself, "I mean it's better than you trying to get a cab or walk home by yourself."

"I know," she assured him, seriously now, thinking that perhaps at the moment she did not have as good a grasp of how acceptable it was to flirt with your friends, "I know, Joe, of course I know! I'm only winding you up! Sorry, I'm drunk. Don't listen to me."

"It's alright," he replied, though, she thought, he still look a bit taken aback.

She could see that she's really surprised him, and Joe could be a bit funny about this side of things. Over the course of three years of in depth, half drunk discussions on the subject with Anna, neither of them had ever been able to pin down why.

"No," she insisted, tipsy and a little more forceful than usual, "That was a crappy of me given that you're giving me a lift. Sorry. You're welcome to a lift on the back of my bike any time you like."

He said nothing, but she could see that the look of amusement had returned to his face. She wondered for a second if he was going to drive the rest of the way home in silence, but then, a moment later, he asked her; "Do you want to stop for some food? You should probably eat."

They were half way down the Woodstock Road, and could see a kebab van up ahead.

"I'm out of money," she replied sadly, though her stomach protested that stopping would be a fantastic idea.

"Doesn't matter," he replied, pulling into the curb and stopping the car, "I keep a fiver in cash on me at all times for this very reason. You stay here, I won't be a minute."

He got out of the car, and she sat there in the dark watching him as he queued at the van. Her ears were still ringing a bit from the gig. He had got a bit taller, she thought, since the last time she'd looked at him like this. At the beginning of first year they'd been pretty much the same height but now he was a good half head taller than her. She gave a sigh, resting back in her seat, thinking about her early start the next day. Joe smiled at her through the windscreen as he came back towards the car, holding two yellow plastic cartons.

"Cheesy chips," he told her, handing her one of them as he sat back in the driver's seat, "Salt, no sauce."

"You remembered what I get?" she asked him, looking across at him in surprise and gratitude.

"I'm hardly likely to forget," he told her, grinning, "You must have had after every night out for the last three years."

"That's probably true," she conceded reluctantly, sneaking a chip out of the edge of her carton, and then abruptly taking his out of his hands, "Here, let me hold yours, and we'll eat them at home. It's not far."

"And it'll give you time for your cheese to melt properly," he replied. He grinned at her look of surprise, "You're more transparent than you think you are, Phil," he told her, smiling.

"Just drive the car," she told him. And then, as they began moving along the road again, "Come up to my room when we get there and we can have them with some tea."

There was a pause that was almost nervous, and she wondered for a second if he was still thinking about her earlier misjudged attempt at flirting.

"Oh come on," she told him, "You've bought me chips, the least I can do is make you a tea."

"Alright," he replied softly, a moment later, "That'll be nice."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	3. Chapter 3

**I really hope you're still enjoying this. **

**2015**

The look on his face as she fumbled with the keys to the flat was almost bemused.

"What's the matter?" she asked him curiously, glancing around to look at him when she had pushed open the door.

"Nothing," he told her in reply, following her inside, "I'm just not sure I expected you to still live here. I think I saw you finding somewhere else."

"It was tempting at first," she admitted, closing the door behind them both, "But I wanted to stay where I'd been with you. We can look for somewhere else now, if you like, though," she continued, "We've definitely got the money now. They still paid your salary into our account every month, but I didn't touch it."

"I wouldn't have minded," he told her, putting the two pizza boxes down on the table, "It wouldn't have been much use to me."

"Well I did mind," she replied, "It would have felt wrong. Anyway, it's all still there. And we can look for somewhere. If you like."

He sat down, re-opening his pizza.

"I would like that," he told her smiling his gentle smile at her as she sat down beside him, "I think that would be nice."

She pulled her own untouched pizza towards herself. They had driven a little way in near silence when Charles had asked if Joe was hungry, and then they had stopped at a takeout pizza place. Without speaking, Phyllis had left the car and returned with three boxes. Charles had insisted on going out of his way to take them home so she thought it was only fair to buy him a pizza.

The hunger was evident in Joe's eyes as his head turned towards the scent of the food.

"What did you-…?"

"Half the sauce, double the cheese, and ham on one half," Phyllis told him, handing him his box, and then, with a tentative smile, "You absurd man."

He smiled too, opening the box and seeing that what she said was true.

"You remembered," he remarked.

"Of course I remembered," she replied, "No one else eats such nonsense."

She waited a moment, watching him eat, seeing him relax a little.

"Joe," she told him, "I love you."

They sat in their kitchen, eating in silence for a little while. She kept glancing at him, hoping he did not notice. This was the first time she'd seen him in the light. He had lost a lot of weight, and had a thicker growth of stubble than she'd ever seen him with. His face was more lined than it had been. But then, she thought, she didn't know what he made of hers, after nearly a decade. He stood up when he'd finished.

"Can I make you a tea?" he asked her.

"That would be nice," she replied.

She watched him wander over to the cupboards, putting his pizza box in the bin. With his loss of weight, he moved a little more swiftly but asserted his presence in the room less than he had done. He automatically reached for the cupboard where the tea always had been, and still was. Taking it down off the shelf, he scanned the bench.

"Kettle?" he asked.

"Over there," she pointed to it on the other bench, "The other socket fused last week and I haven't got around to fixing it."

"I'll give it a look tomorrow," he told her, "No doubt Charles will still want you in at work."

"Joseph-…" she turned around, wanting to be honest, fully prepared and ready to tell him that she was no longer woking for the government, she was teaching five year olds to spell and count, but when she saw him she also saw the way that he was looking at her. He had the look of a man who had come home after a long time, such a long time, and she was at the centre of that. The way he was looking at her made her feel it. A lump rose in her throat, and she could not speak. She only nodded.

"It would be good if you could," she told him.

The was steadily coming to the boil.

"You're right," he told her, getting two mugs out of the cupboard, "We should look for a new place if the electrics are playing up here. Seems silly too wait."

"Yeah, it does," she agreed, "I'll get on the phone to Daisy on Saturday."

"Are her and William still in property?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "They're doing very well. Actually, they sold Charles and Elsie their new place."

"Charles is living with Elsie?" he asked.

Of course, she had forgotten he didn't know. She smiled.

"Yes," she replied softly, "They got married last year."

Joe smiled too as the kettle clicked, and he poured out the water into the mugs.

"Well," he remarked, "It was bound to happen eventually."

"And yet we wondered if he'd ever get round to it," she reminded him, "But no, they've been together years now. They got together quite soon after-… you were gone."

She stopped abruptly, tried not to remember, she tried never to think about that time too much. It wasn't good for her to let her mind dwell upon it. It was a long time ago, but she painfully remembered how it had felt, seeing Charles and Elsie quietly, yet so obviously coming together so happily, with Joe gone. And they had tried, she knew, not to make it difficult for her, to stay out of her way. And she knew, even, that she shouldn't have minded at all- she who finally, after years of reading about it, understood what happiness was and what it meant to be lost- she should not have begrudged her friends their own happiness, and yet-…

"Do you have an early start tomorrow?" he asked. He was looking at her with some concern, she saw, and she realised she had let her distress show in her face.

She shrugged.

"I have to be in at nine am at the latest," she replied, truthfully.

"Not too bad," he remarked.

"No," she agreed, "Not too early."

There was silence for a moment.

"What do you want to do?" she asked, "Should I run you a bath before we go to bed?"

"That would be good," he replied, his face lighting up just a little at the thought, "A bath would be really nice."

Again, she tried not to think about the last time he'd been given the chance to wash properly.

"Alright," she replied, taking her tea and standing up, "I'll go up and do that. Do you want the rest of my pizza?"

"I wouldn't mind," he replied eagerly, sitting back down at the table with his own tea.

"Alright," she told him, touching his shoulder gently, "I'll shout when it's ready."

She felt herself exhale deeply when she left the room. She eased herself gently up the stairs, too caught up in her thoughts to ascend at any great speed. If she was honest with herself, she had expected things to be less-… normal. She had expected distress, she had expected trauma. Neither was immediately manifest. Letting out another sigh, she turned the hot tap on and let the water run into the bath. It was no bad thing, she supposed, and she should be glad about it. But it spooked her nonetheless. It wasn't natural for someone to go through what he had and not-…. but then, she supposed, she did not know exactly what he _had _been through, he hadn't said anything, she knew little more than her own conjecture.

"It's nearly ready!" she called down the stairs, changing the temperature of the water.

"Alright!" came the reply.

She had to admit, at a first glance, he seemed to be handling it all very well.

A moment later he appeared in the doorway.

"You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to this," he told her, looking at the steam rising from the surface of the bath.

She smiled, dipping her fingers in to test the temperature, turning the tap off. He did not undress as she expected him too though. Instead, after he closed the bathroom door, he stood there hesitantly, just inside the room.

"What's wrong?" she asked him softly.

Steam from the bath was rising around them both, blurring their sight just slightly.

"My body has changed a lot," he told her honestly.

She gave him a brave smile.

"So has mine," she replied softly. She waited a moment, gaging his response; "Do you want me to go?" she asked him.

"No," he replied, "I want you to want to stay."

"Then I'll stay," she told him, her voice soft, trying not to shake, "I always want to be with you."

"Thank you," he told her, sincerely, and she reached out towards him, working her fingers tenderly beneath the grey T-shirt he was wearing, lifting it over his head and off.

He was right, his body had changed, a lot. She tried not to look too surprised. The scars and the bruises were something that she had expected, not the tattoos. Instinctively, curiously, her hand reached out to touch them.

"Can I?" she asked him, her fingers hovering close to his skin.

"Of course," he replied.

She traced the one on his left pectoral slowly with her thumb.

"I don't read Russian," she said softly, "What do they say?"

"The usual macho bullshit," he told her quietly, smiling a little- it did not reach his eyes, "But if you didn't have one you were dead."

She nodded carefully, still touching his skin. He looked at her in concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yes, of course I am," she replied quickly, "You're here."

He smiled at her, taking her hand and squeezing it softly.

"You'd better get in the bath," she told him softly.

He nodded, slipping his trousers off and stepping into the water. She knelt on the floor beside him as he sat in the water. The tips of her fingers dipped gently in the water as she looked carefully at his exposed skin, taking in the new marks more carefully than before, examining them and allowing herself to wonder. His eyes followed her eyes as they combed his body but she was too distracted to notice the frown forming on his face.

"Lissy," he said very softly, calling her the name that she hadn't heard for nine years, because only he would dare to call her that, lifting his hand out of the water to take hers, "I will talk to you about what happened. I want to be able to. But please give me time. I can't yet. I know you're worried, but it's better if you give me time. Is that alright?"

"Of course," she told him, "I want to do what's best for you."

"Thank you," he replied, "I really appreciate that. I know it was hard for you too. It's good of you to put me first."

"It was hard," she admitted, "But it wasn't-…" she glanced at the cuts on his chest, "When you were first gone," she began again, "I felt very guilty. I wished I could have given you more, I thought somehow I could have saved you-…"

"That's crazy," he told her softly, "You weren't even involved in that operation."

"I know I wasn't," she replied, "But that's how I felt. What I'm saying is, let me make it up to you now."

"Darling," he told her gently, "You have nothing to make up for."

"But I want to try," she insisted, squeezing his hand gently, "Please let me try."

He looked at her carefully for a moment.

"Alright," he agreed.

They were both quiet for a few seconds.

"I've been thinking about you for nine years," he told her softly, "Alone, in a cell, for nine years, you were everything good that I thought about. You helped me more than you can know."

She could not help it, kneeling there on the floor beside the bathtub, she broke down, she began to sob, quietly at first but then more, and she clung to the rim of the bath to keep herself upright. She felt like an idiot, if either of them should be crying it was definitely him. But he wasn't, he was watching her with that look of surprised compassion that she so strongly associated with him. And then he was reaching forwards, forgetting that his arms were soaking, wrapping them around her and holding her. She did not mind at all that he was drenching her, the warm, wet heat engulfed her and helped to soothe her sobs.

"It's alright, my darling," he told her gently, "It's going to be alright."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter may feel a bit like it's just filler, but it is important, I promise. And the rating is going to go up next chapter (so well all have that to look forward to). **

"I'm sorry it's such a mess," she told him as they entered her room.

"It's fine, it's difficult to keep a little room tidy," he replied, "Mine is the same. I would say we should go there, there's a bit more room, but Spratt's a nosey git at the best of times."

She laughed particularly sharply at that; their housemate Jeremy Spratt certainly had a habit of insinuating himself into other people's business to an alarming degree. Over the years, Phyllis had found her distaste for him growing gradually stronger, and she was sure it was only due to his own charitable nature that Joe had agreed to take the room next his. So they would have to make do with here. Her room really was very little. It was the smallest in the house and then only place for them both to sit was the bed. She thought she saw him looking a little uncomfortable for a moment, but then he sat down, perching just on the edge of the mattress and opening his chips.

"I'll make that tea," she told him, filling the kettle up at the little sink beneath the mirror and getting two mugs down from the shelf above her desk.

The dress she was wearing was a little bit short and very snug over the hips, and if she hadn't thought that Joe would die of mortification, she would have slipped it off and put on her pyjamas in their place. So instead, she waited quietly for the kettle to boil before pouring out the water and bringing the tea over to him.

"Thank you," he told her, taking the mug.

She sat down on her bed beside him.

"God, I'm starving," she told him, opening her own chips, resting her own mug of tea on folder.

He smiled and then, pointing at the folder, asked "Are these your revision notes?"

"Yes, why?"

"Can you put them a bit further away from me? I can see myself causing an absolute disaster with than tea, and you'd have every right to kill me."

She smiled at him.

"You'll be fine," she told him, but moved it to the other side of the bed as he had asked, "God, I'm sick of the sight of these things, though," she added, "I almost wish you would destroy them for me."

"It'll all be over soon," he told her gently, "And if you fancy a different form of self-flagellation, you can always switch to job-hunting for a day."

She smiled a little ruefully, but said nothing. He caught sight of the look on her face though.

"Don't tell me you actually enjoy it?" he asked incredulously.

"No," she answered honestly.

There was a pause.

"Is it giving you a hard time?" she asked sympathetically, bringing her tea to her lips and taking a sip, watching him over the rim of her cup.

He had moved further onto the bed at some point, and now he cast his head back thinking about his own frustration, resting against the wall and letting out a sigh.

"In a way," he replied, "It's certainly playing hell with any sense of self worth I once had."

"Don't say that," she told him softly.

He pivoted his head a little towards her.

"Well, you did ask," he reminded her, with a wry little smile.

"I mean you do have worth," she told him firmly, "Of course you do."

He blinked in surprise and his smile broadened a touch but he remained wry.

"You sobering up yet?" he asked her.

She grinned, taking another sip of tea and continuing to eat.

"Just about," she responded.

"Anyway, the marketplace would seem to disagree with you," he continued a second later, "No one is exactly biting my hand off at the moment."

She frowned a little.

"What sort of stuff are you applying for?" she asked him.

"All kinds of things," he replied glumly, "Anything that will have me." He waited a moment, "I had fancied teaching," he confessed, "But the careers people seemed determined to put me in touch with banks. Probably because of my dad."

As Phyllis understood, Alfred Molesley was some kind of well-know, and well off, financial bigwig whose job did not sound appealing in the slightest. She had no doubt that if Joe really wanted to work in finance, the last people he would see fit to go to would the people in the careers department.

"Teaching what?" she enquired, "Classics?"

"Well, it would probably end up being Latin," he replied, "At most schools. But essentially, yes."

She pondered for a moment.

"I think you'd be good at that," she told him.

He looked at her.

"What?" she asked.

"But you don't approve?" he asked her.

"Why should I disapprove?" she asked him, taken aback, "Who am I to disapprove of you, Joe? There's nothing wrong with teaching, if that's what you want."

"I don't know," he responded after a moment's thought, "Just something in your voice sounded… a bit doubtful, I think."

Well, he was certainly perceptive. She could not fault him for that. Very perceptive indeed.

"I was just thinking that teaching would never be for me," she replied.

There was a moment's silence. She got off the bed, taking their empty chip containers and putting them in the bin.

"How about you?" he asked her as she returned to sit on the bed again.

This time, less encumbered by food, she sat a little closer to him.

"What about me?" she asked him.

"What sort of stuff are you looking to go into?" he asked her, "What are you applying for?"

She was quiet.

"Well," she admitted at last, "I've already got a job offer lined up."

He looked at her in something close to awe.

"What? You didn't say! Where?"

She bit her lip, torn between annoyance at herself for allowing this conversation to continue as long as it had and to suppress her urge to grin like an idiot at his reaction.

"I can't tell you."

This proclamation almost had for him.

"What do you mean?" he pressed.

A grin broke out on her lips.

"I mean I'm not supposed to tell anyone," she replied, closing her eyes, trying to work out how to do this without cocking up or just sounding like a complete dickhead.

He wasn't having any of it.

"Because?" he questioned.

"Because it's for the government."

He looked at her uncomprehendingly for half a second. And then it clicked.

"Oh," his voice was suddenly very serious, "You mean, as a spy?"

"Well, not as a member of parliament," she answered, joking a little, wanting him to seem a little bit less shocked, "Yes, as a spy."

He was quiet for a few seconds.

"You can't tell anyone," she told him firmly, "No one else knows. I wouldn't have told you if you'd asked me when I was sober. I shouldn't have told you- I'm only supposed to tell my next of kin or significant other, and I'm sure as hell not going to tell either of my parents."

"I could get down on one knee," he offered weakly.

"Thanks, Joe," she told him, suppressing a laugh, "But it's alright. And I think they'd make you sign the Official Secrets Act if you did do that."

"Oh," by the look on his face that wasn't something he wanted very much. He looked rather awed. He was quiet for a few long seconds.

"How did you-…? Did they approach you or-…?"

"No, they didn't," she explained, "I've always known I wanted to do this."

"Really?" he asked, "I could have sworn you said you wanted to go into management."

And, she thought, he could retain snatches of conversation very well.

"It obviously helps not to tell everyone," she reminded him, "It seemed sensible to come up with a suitably vague alternative. You're now wondering if everyone who's said they want to go into management actually wants to be a spy, aren't you?"

"Well now I am!" he replied, and she laughed, "No, actually," he concluded a second later, "Most of them are far too dull. I expect most of them really do want to go into management."

She continued to grin away for a moment. Then he asked her;

"So why do you want to do it? Why have yo always known?"

She looked at him carefully. She knew he was asking seriously, he was genuinely interested.

"Well," she told him, trying to answer as precisely as she could, "I've always wanted a job that was really useful, that made a really big difference, which got a lot harder once I realised I didn't want to be a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. And unfortunately, Joe, I think there are going to be more people in our year graduating to become teachers than you can shake a stick at."

"You're probably right," he agreed with her, looking a little downcast, "But won't it be-… not wanting to state the obvious, I mean you've obviously thought of this, won't it be terribly difficult?"

"A lot of jobs are difficult," she replied, "In different ways. I'd rather struggle with something that will make a difference than struggle with sheer boredom."

"That's fair enough," he replied, "I see what you mean. But won't it be difficult, later on, if you decide you do want to have a family. Or get married."

"I don't want to have a family," she said simply.

He knew better than to question her.

"Alright," he replied simply, "Fair enough."

There was quiet for a moment.

"You know," she suggested after a moment, "If you still don't have any luck on the job front, you could always apply."

He caught her meaning but seemed, at first, not to be able to quite believe it.

"Can you imagine me as a spy?" he asked incredulously, "I'm the last person that would ever be a spy!"

She couldn't help but smile a little bit at the irony.

"I believe that's rather the point of a good spy," she replied.

He said nothing.

"Think about it," she told him, "You understand people very well, you're certainly not stupid, you know what to listen for, you're not in bad physical condition- I remember that time you lifted me up those stairs in that club because it was getting a bit pushy where I was- and you are, you're right, the last person anyone would suspect. Ever."

He was quiet for a long moment.

"I'll think about it," he told her, to her surprise.

"Oh," she replied, "That's good. Do think about it."

"They don't give you a better placement to start off in if you manage to recruit your friends as well?" he asked her, his voice light and a little frivolous.

"Sadly not," she replied, smiling back at him, "Or I'd have got to work on Anna and Daisy earlier."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, so I basically wrote this chapter in my head while walking around Paris, that's why I managed to do it so quickly. Rating has gone up. I hope you like it, and I'd really appreciate it if you left a review, it makes me so happy when you do. x **

She woke up while it was still dark. They were lying facing each other as they had done last night, facing one another, their arms wrapped tightly around each other's bodies, they had hardly moved. She had slept with her face buried against the T-shirt he was sleeping in, the warmth of his chest serving for a pillow. His eyes were closed. She didn't want to disturb him, so she extracted herself as gently as she could, beginning to roll slowly to the side of the bed.

"I'm not asleep," he told her, opening his eyes, making her jump a little, "Please don't go."

She relaxed gratefully, sinking back down to lie beside him, touching his head gently, brushing her hand over his hair, touching him, trying to make herself believe that he was back in their bed beside her.

"How long have you been awake for?" she asked him.

"Since five," he replied.

"That's four hours of sleep," she pointed out, "At most."

"I've learned to sleep in short shifts," he responded.

She let out a sigh, but remembered what he'd said last night about not talking about what had happened until he was ready to. She stroked his cheek gently, asking him;

"Do you feel alright though?"

"Yes, I do," he replied, "This is the best I've felt in a long time."

He kissed the top of her head and she smiled up at him.

"Me too," she told him truthfully.

Stretching her arm back around his chest, she pulled him close to her again.

"I missed you so much," she told him softly, resting her head against his T-shirt again.

His hand rubbed in broad circles over her back through his old flannel pyjamas that she was wearing, which she had adopted years ago.

"I missed you too," he replied quietly, "It feels so good just to be next to you again."

"I know," she responded quietly, "I know. For me too."

Their legs had twined back together, their limbs seemed to be locking them into each other. And then his head bowed down to hers, their lips pressing tenderly together. It was almost strange and new to be kissed again, but still familiar, as the scent of him. She liked it. She let out a quiet sigh, parting her lips under his, allowing herself to remember the taste of his mouth. She sighed again, working her hand between their bodies, holding onto the front of his shirt with her fist, pulling him even closer to her. His hand was in her hair, holding her head softly.

"What time did you say you had to be in today?" he asked her.

"Nine," she replied.

"We have time," he told her softly, so gently suggestive, "If you want to."

She smiled against his mouth, pressing another kiss there. And then she paused for a moment.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked him.

He pulled away a little further to look at her.

"It's been nine years," he reminded her, as if it was necessary, a look of confusion on his face.

"I know," she told him softly, "But-… I don't know. I want you to be sure. I want to know that you don't have to do this just for me."

"I do," he told her softly, kissing her again, "I want to do it for you and I want this, I promise you."

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him in reply. They kissed for long long moments, re-learning the feeling of one another's bodies, kissing each other slowly, thoughtfully.

"Lissy," he asked her after a few moments, "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," she replied.

"Did you ever-…"

"What?" she prompted him softly.

"Did you ever think about pursuing anything else when I was gone? _Did _your pursue anything?"

"Are you asking if I slept with anyone else?" she asked him quietly.

She wasn't sure if she was surprised or not that he asked her. She must have been at least half-expecting him to wonder. But a painful lump rose in her throat all the same.

"Partly, yes," he replied, asking plainly "Did you ever think of finding someone else? I mean, I understand if you did," he continued softly, "It was a long time, and you might have thought that I wasn't-… going to come back. It doesn't matter if you did, really, it doesn't. But I'd still like to know."

She realised that his question was in no way accusing, simply curious, genuinely questioning, wanting to know what had happened to her while he'd been gone.

"It _would _have mattered," she insisted softly, "It would have mattered very much. And, _of course_, I didn't, Joe, there was no one else. I've told you before," she continued, smoothing her hand over his cheek, "You are the only man I've ever loved, the only man I want to be with, in any way. I've told you before, I never really liked sex until I was with you. No one else crossed my mind in that way. No one else ever came close to you. So, you know, you'll have to be a bit gentle with me, at first."

He eyes were closed, listening to her voice. He smiled at this last, though, and opened them.

"I love you," he told her softly, opening his eyes, "I love you so much, Lissy."

"I love you too," she replied.

His arms engulfed her and he held her close. His hand stroked her hair, caressed the back of her neck, trailed around her body, under her breast to the buttons down the front of her pyjamas.

"You're like my Penelope," he told her softly, kissing the line of her jaw, whispering in her ear, explaining a moment later, "Faithful to the last."

"Alright," she told him with mock sternness, "You don't have to explain your references to me. I might not have done Classics but I have read things. You're not the obscure bastard you think you are, Molesley."

He snorted with laughter, and she did too, pulling him closer to kiss him again. He had the front of her pyjama shirt open now, he was looking at her skin.

She felt alarmingly self-conscious. It had been no exaggeration the night before; her body had changed a lot in the last nine years. In her own opinion she had become visibly older. Poor man, he remembered her body as it had been when she was barely out of her teens. This was a sorry sight for him to come home to. But he didn't seem to think so. He was pressing kisses down onto her collarbone, he was cupping her breast in his hand, kneading it softly. She remembered the way his body had changed, what had been done to it. He had seen far worse than an ageing woman. In the past he had seen her come back here covered in blood, he had washed her, he had cared for her, he had held her in this bed. He had seen worse that this.

He was still raining kisses down onto her skin.

"You're so beautiful," he told her softly.

She sighed in relief, hearing him say it out loud. He heard her, raising his head, looking into her eyes. He seemed to comprehend her anxieties all at once.

"You smell the same," he told her softly, "You feel the same. You're like coming home. I love you so much."

She wanted to weep with joy this time. He bowed his head to her chest, taking her nipple into his mouth, pushing the flannel shirt off her shoulders. She gave a quiet moan.

"Are you still on the pill?" he asked her softly.

"No," she replied, "There was no point."

"Oh, right," he said softly, drawing away a little, "We'd better-…"

"No, it doesn't matter," she told him quietly, quickly, but with a firmness in her voice.

He looked at her in surprise.

"It doesn't matter, I'll take care of it," she told him swiftly, "Just stay with me. Make love to me and stay with me."

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

She nodded firmly.

"Kiss me," she asked him, "Please."

He did so, and she worked her hands under his T-shirt, allowing their lips to part only to whisk it over his head and off. Her hands rested against his bare chest, his skin was so warm against hers. His hands held her hips, then, slipping down under the waistband of her pyjamas, stroked her skin, cupping her bottom and pulling her close to him. She stretched her legs out, wrapping one over his hip, linking it around his waist. He rolled her onto her back and she raised the other, both legs wrapping securely around his waist, her arms cradling his shoulders and neck. Their mouths met each other stroke for stroke, kissing each other softly, soundly. Caressing the curve of her hip, his fingers moved smoothly to her front, seeking out her folds, slipping between them. With his other hand he gently nudged her knee away from his waist so he could remove her pyjamas. She lay naked before him for the first time in years, and his eyes swept over her appraisingly.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember," he told her in a whisper as he lay back down beside her, half over her, his hand reaching back between her legs.

His fingers trailed slowly between her folds, offering her a semblance of the pressure she needed. She knew he was teasing her deliberately, he had always liked to do this, and she liked it too. But she wanted to feel him too. She tilted her hips into his touch, making him increase the pressure. She sighed softly as he took the hint and touched her more firmly, rubbing circles on her sensitive skin. He dipped his fingers inside her and she gasped in surprise, sitting up a little. He met her, kissing her mouth, calming her, sinking his fingers deeper inside her. She groaned with pleasure, closing her eyes. It was so good to feel him like this again. But she wanted more.

"Joe," she asked him softly, "Please."

He smiled softly, letting her know that he would not tease her this time.

He slipped his pyjamas off and lay back down beside her. Once again, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Come here," she murmured, encouraging him to roll over her, again, "I want you."

She moaned out loud as he moved his hips and pushed inside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, "We can stop."

"Don't you dare," she told him, her hands on his face, making him look at her, "This is-… wonderful. Just this. This is all I've wanted for so long."

He kissed her tenderly, moving his hips a little.

"What about this?" he asked her.

"Yes," she murmured, kissing his shoulder with her lips apart, "Oh, yes."

He moved his hips again, thrusting deeper into her.

"Yes," she groaned, "God, yes."

Her hand gripped the back of his head as he pushed into her again, rocking his hips repeatedly and she rose to meet him, arching her back, pushing their bodies together. She kept kissing his shoulder, sucking hard as his fingers worked down between their bodies, pressing at her centre, and he pushed her over the edge. His own climax followed seconds later, and he spilled himself inside her. Their bodies collapsed together and her fingers trailed gently up his spine as she felt his heart hammer into hers, wanting to calm him.

She closed her eyes, kissing his cheek once. She was so glad they had done this. They had shared so many secrets while they'd been together, and now if they could not talk just yet, she wa glad they had this, at least.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you thank you thank you for your reviews, it was so nice to get them and to hear you're still enjoying this. I really hope you like this chapter.**

**1995**

When she woke up the first thing she noticed was that there was light streaming in between the gap between the curtains- she was definitely running late for a 9am in the centre of town. She was tempted to keep lying there; the bed was so warm- warmer than usual. The thought of her tutor's face though, staunchly disapproving at the best of times had her rubbing her eyes and grumbling softly. She was probably going to have to get a move on. Hurriedly, she sat up, and it was then that she realised she was definitely not alone. Oh God, it was Joe. For a moment she was faintly bemused by his appearance, fully clothed in her bed. At some point that she didn't remember they must have pulled the covers up over themselves. And then, gradually, she remembered the night before and how got there. She smiled a little. And then she remembered telling him things that she ought not to have done, and her heart crashed to the floor. No more vodka, ever.

She looked over his shoulder at the clock at the other side of her bed. It was quarter past eight.

"Shit. Joe," she nudged him softly, at first, and then a bit harder when he did not respond, "Joe, wake up."

He stirred slowly. For a moment, she was caught by the sight of him, lying there in her bed. Watching him wake up, she was caught up in the sight of his body. She'd hardly noticed it until this point but recently he'd really grown into his own form, a stark contrast to the slip of a boy she'd met when they were both eighteen. It suited him. There was a slight growth of stubble on his cheek, as he began to raise his face groggily from the pillow. Then she reminded herself that she was pressed for time, and she ought not to get distracted. She took the liberty of shaking his shoulders, a little violently.

"What's u-… Phil?" he exclaimed, surprised, seeing who was shaking him awake, "Why are we-…?"

"We must have fallen asleep," she told him softly as he pushed himself into a sitting position, "After you brought me back home."

He seemed to be remembering.

"Oh god," he said, glancing at the clock at the bedside, "Your class. I've made you late!"

"I'll make it," she assured him gently, "It doesn't matter."

"Do you want me to give you a lift?" he asked her.

It was tempting, but she shook her head; "No, you stay here. Or rather, go and nap in your own room. You obviously need your rest," she told him with a little smile.

"I'm sorry I crashed out in your bed, Phil," he told her sincerely.

"That's alright," she replied, "Believe me, you've been by far the most inoffensive person I've had crashing there over the last few years."

He coloured a little, and she fought back a grin; he was so easy to wind up sometimes and it entertained her far too much. He got off the bed, and began forging around underneath it for his shoes.

"Joe, wait a minute," she told him softly, "I need to talk to you about something."

He looked at her very levelly.

"I feel like we talked about a lot last night," he reminded her, a slight edge to his voice.

"Exactly," she agreed, "That's what I need to ask you about."

He seemed to know exactly what she meant.

"I won't tell anyone," he said immediately, "I won't tell anyone what you told me. Not a soul."

She smiled.

"Thanks," she replied, "I really appreciate it. I've not told anyone other than you."

"You said," he reminded her.

"I'm sorry I told you," she said softly, "I realise it's not fair to burden you with all my business, and ask you to keep it to yourself."

"I don't mind," he replied, "It was me who asked you. I never would have done if I'd know that it could get you into trouble," he trailed off, "It does sound bloody exciting though!" he admitted a moment later, an impish grin on his face. His eyes settled carefully on her, looking at her very clearly, as if taking her in in a different light, and then said; "I should have guessed that you'd want to do something amazing."

She barely knew what to say to that and she did not think to interrogate his statement. She felt herself taken aback by the compliment, looking at the floor without knowing why, a little heat in her cheeks that had not been there a moment ago. There was a moment's silence as she processed what he'd said, and then, raising her head, smiling:

"I knew you'd be alright with a secret, Joe," she told him gently. Then after a moment's thought, "You should think about what I said. Seriously."

"Which part?" he asked her.

She fought back an eye-roll.

"About you making an application yourself," she replied, waiting a moment, trying to gage him reaction. His expression remained impassive, or perhaps confused, "I meant it, I do think you'd be good at it."

"God, Phil, I thought you only said that bit because you were pissed! I didn't know you meant it!"

"Maybe I was pissed," she replied calmly, "It doesn't mean I was wrong."

A little smile appeared on his lips. To her it looked like he was trying to gage whether or not she was joking.

"I will consider it," he said at last, "But only because I'm so used to places rejecting me by now. And because you flattered me so bloody much. I feel like I should do something to at least pretend to earn your faith in me. Even if you were pissed."

"Now you're being silly," she told him, smiling a little, "Of course I have faith in you."

She enjoyed the impression that he was giving that her praise of him could get under his skin, and she didn't know why. He was looking at her again, with that very level, careful, caring look she had come to know as his. She wanted to stay here, she realised, and not only because she didn't really want to go to class. If she did not leave now she never would.

"I should get going," she said softly, taking a step in his direction- he has standing near the desk- shuffling around to find the relevant papers.

"Oh, shit, your class!" he remembered, then, seeing how she was searching for her things, "Can I get anything for you?"

"I think my bag's under my bed-…"

"Yes, it is," he replied, ducking down swiftly to retrieve it, "I saw it when I found my shoes."

He straightened back up, standing next to her, proffering her back.

"What is it?" he asked when he was met with silence, and a definite smirk.

"You've got fantastic visual memory," she replied, still smirking as she took the backpack from his hand and dropping her notes inside, swinging it over her shoulder, "You would be _very_ good."

"Shut up," he told her, grinning happily at her.

"We should make a pact to get outrageously drunk together after finals," she told him, returning his look.

"Alright," he replied, "Done."

They stood for a moment, facing one another. She bit her lip just gently.

"Thanks for last night," she told him softly, "I had a lovely night once I found you."

He smiled broadly.

"I'm glad," he replied quietly, "You're very welcome."

And she didn't know why at all, perhaps she was still half asleep, but then she took a step forwards and closed the space between them and kissed him on the cheek. She moved her head back a little and saw his face. He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"I'm sorry," she told him softly, "Should I not have done that?"

"No, it was fine," he replied, his voice a little different, "I liked it."

She should have smiled at him and then turned around and gone to her bloody class. But she stayed where she was, close to him, within arm's reach. Close enough for her to reach out and embrace him and press a gentle kiss to his mouth. She didn't know why she did it. Perhaps it was the gentleness, the softness of the night they had just spent together, perhaps it was the way he simply absorbed her secrets, as he seemed to do the rest of her. She did know that she liked it. It surprised her just how much she liked it. She was caught in between surprise and delight as she felt him kiss her back.

It was very nice indeed. In those moments she could hardly believe that they hadn't thought to do this before. They broke apart, breathless and messy.

"You need to go," he reminded her.

It was true, she did.

"You need to sleep," she replied.

He smiled at her.

"I'll probably see you tonight," he told her.

"Alright," she said softly, "I'd like that."

And then she turned and ran like hell down the stairs and to the bike sheds.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry it's taken a while to update, I've not been too well. Hope you're still enjoying this.**

**2015**

She got back to the flat on the dot of six o'clock that evening. Heaving her bag of marking onto the table she sat down, without bothering to make herself a cup of tea first. She suspected that some point since she had last made love and then down a day's work, her stamina had declined alarmingly. Still, though, a smile flickered across her face. Then, she saw a note left for her at the other side of the table. It was odd, she was so used to coming back to the empty flat that she had returned and failed to register his absence. It made her feel uncomfortable, and a little guilty, and she told herself that that would soon change when he had been here a little longer.

The note was definitely in his handwriting, though, which she recognised immediately.

_Gone in to see Charles. Back in the evening. Love J._

And then, beneath that, as if another thought had occurred to him before he had left the note completely:

_I think we need to talk._

"Shit."

So he knew, then, that she was not working for the service any more. She should have told him last night, she shouldn't have let herself get carried away with their old comfortable silence when there were things that had to be damn well said. If he hadn't known when he'd left the flat, then he certainly would now, after speaking to Charles. After not going to where they had both worked _and not bloody seeing her there._ Shit.

Digging hastily into her bag, she pulled out her phone, dialling the one number from the old days that she had kept in her speed dial, for moments like this and similar nightmares.

Usually you were supposed to reserve making calls to analysts at MI5's anti-terrorism division for topics such as knowing about a bomb in public places, but Phyllis was going to bend this rule just this once.

"Elsie."

"Phil?" came the familiar voice on the other end, "Are you alright?"

"Yes-… No-… Kind of. Listen, did Joe come in today?"

"Yes," Elsie replied carefully, letting Phyllis knew that Elsie definitely knew she already suspected as much.

Phyllis let out a sigh.

"Did he ask to come in or did Charles send for him?" she asked.

"Charles didn't ask him to," Elsie told her, "He was quite surprised, actually, when Joe called to say he was coming in."

"Crap," Phyllis said softly, looking off into the corner of the room, as if expecting to find an answer about what the hell to do written there on the wall or something. She did not say anything else, and Elsie continued:

"I haven't seen Charles since, actually. Joe's only just left. I don't know what they talked about."

Still, Phyllis was quiet.

"What is this, Phil?" Elsie asked her softly, not unkindly, "Or did you and your husband just wake up this morning and decide to make mysterious phone calls to me and my husband."

"No," Phyllis told her with a sigh, "Els, I didn't tell Joe last night that I'm not with the Service anymore."

"Oh, Phil, you didn't, did you? Why not?"

"I know I should have done," she replied hastily, "I should have told him straight away. But it was just so good having him back, last night, and he didn't seem to want to talk, and then I started to cry, and then he put me to bed-…" she realised she was babbling, and sounding ridiculous.

"What about this morning?" Elsie asked calmly, halting the flow of increasing mindless narrative.

"This morning we-…"

"Oh, Phil, that's-… well, that's something at least. But I thought you'd stopped taking the pill?"

Dear God, this woman had mind like a steal trap when it came to remembering details!

"I did," Phyllis replied quietly.

There was silence from the other end of the phone for a moment.

"For God's sake, Phyllis," Elsie told her seriously, "You need to be careful. Remember what happened the last time!"

"Of course I remember," Phyllis replied quickly, snapping a little, she was hardly likely to forget it in a hurry, "This is completely different, that was nine years ago! I don't even know if I can still-…!"

She heard the sound of the front door going.

"He's back," she told Elsie quickly, "I have to go."

"Alright, Phil, my love," Elsie told her soft, "Will you call me tomorrow? Just to let me know everything is ok?"

"Alright," Phyllis replied, and put the phone down.

Joseph was standing in the doorway by the time she had turned around. She smiled at him a little nervously.

"Hello."

"Hello," he replied, moving into the room and taking the chair at the head of the table, next to her. He lifted her bag of files onto the floor so that the table between them was bare. She sat a little anxiously in her chair.

"How was Charles?" she asked him.

"Much the same," he replied, "I've never known someone so unchanged by a decade."

She smiled because it was perfectly true, the assessment was exactly accurate. He was watching her closely.

"Phil," he asked her softly, a moment later, "Why didn't you tell me you'd left?"

He asked her more gently than she had expected; questioning, curious, rather than accusing. Still, she swallowed hard.

"Did you know before Charles told you?" she asked him.

"I'm a spy," he replied swiftly, "Did you think I wouldn't notice all of the work books and assessments files? I saw them when I was eating my breakfast."

She let out a sigh, looking at her hands rather than at him.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked.

"No," he said softly, in his unmistakably truthful way, "I just want to know why you didn't tell me last night?"

"I wanted to," she replied, "Really, I did. But I got caught up in you being here, and I didn't want to spoil it. I didn't know how you'd feel about going back to work if I wasn't there-…"

"I admit," he told her, "The prospect of going back to work is very… different without you. It was a bit of a shock."

"I'm sorry," she whispered softly, raising her head, looking at him imploringly, her eyes swimming with tears. Something about him being back seemed to have knocked the lid off the hurt she had kept so carefully suppressed all these years.

His eyes widened in surprise as he saw her face and he reached out his hand for hers, covering her fingers, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

"It's alright," he told her, "Phil, I'm not angry with you, I promise. Lissy," he told her steadily, as he saw her wiping her eyes, "Look at me."

She sniffed, meeting his eyes as best she could. He gave her a smile that she tried weakly to return.

"Charles told me, you know," he explained to her.

Her heart nearly fell out of her chest.

"What did he tell you?" she asked sharply, in a terrified whisper.

The strangeness of her tone registered with him, but he did not address it just now.

"About the operation you went on," he told her, "Just after I'd-… gone."

"Oh," Phyllis replied, her racing heart-rate settling down to normal, "Right. Yes."

It had been horrible. Charles had offered her time off, and she hadn't taken it. She should have taken it, but instead she went on another operation. It wasn't intended to be a honeytrap; Charles had better strategic awareness and, to be frank, better taste that to attempt such a thing at that time. But it had rapidly turned that way. The man they were observing under the premise of business negotiations was utterly corrupt- and a hardened womaniser. It took little more than the feeling of his hand on Phyllis knee before she fell apart, and the next thing she remembered clearly was sitting in Elsie's office at Thames House, a black eye, a blanket wrapped around her and Isobel from HR being sent for. It had been horrible, and she forced herself out of her recollections as a wave of nausea began to sweep over her.

"I don't like to think about it," she said simply.

"Of course not," he replied curtly.

There was something in his voice that she could not quite place, and then she realised that it was a hint of hostility, just a very slight one, but it was there nonetheless.

"I know what happened then was nothing compared to what happened to you, but it upset me so much because that man tried to seduce me," she told him plainly, "And for half a second it made me think of you. And it made me feel sick that I could think of you and him as like one another in any way, because you weren't. It was disgusting, it wasn't like how we were at all. I felt like I'd-… polluted a memory of you. And you didn't deserve that."

"I know," he told her gently, "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

For a second, though, it really felt that she had had to. She felt she needed to justify herself to him, because of his suffering.

"What did you think he'd told me?" he asked a moment later.

"When?" she asked, feigning confusing. She knew what he meant.

"Just now," he replied, "When I said that Charles had told me."

"What?" Phyllis replied, "I don't know. I can't remember."

She knew she had not convinced him, but he decided not to press the issue, for which she was very grateful. He seemed to exhale deeply, his eyes falling to her hands, examining the pale skin, smoothing over it again. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and her worries were momentarily assuaged. She gave him a careful smile.

"What did you talk to Charles about?" she asked him.

"What you'd expect, really," he answered, "Where he and Elsie are going over the summer and how the cricket's been these nine years."

She could not help but laugh a little, but it could not evade her that he was not ready to talk yet. He had known what she was really asking him; she had thought that maybe if he could tell Charles what had happened he could open up to her too.

"I just thought-…" she told him a little awkwardly, "If you had talked to Charles about it, maybe you might be ready to-…"

"Phil," he said gently, as gently as he could, she suspected, "I told you last night, you've got to give me some time. I will talk, I will tell you, but it will have to be after a little while. I can talk to Charles in a very clinical way about it all, in a way that I can't talk to you. You're different. Do you understand?"

She nodded haltingly, squeezing his hand. They were silent for a few long moments.

"So," he asked her gently, "You're a teacher?"

"Yes," she replied quietly, "It's funny, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is rather," he replied, only a little hollowly, "What age group?"

"Five year olds," she replied, adding unnecessarily, "They're only little. But it's a very good school," she told him, "Very nice area, very middle class. It's-… comparatively easy. Which is something I keep to myself in the staff room."

He grinned.

"That doesn't sound like you," he teased her gently, and then, "That sounds about as different as you can get from spying."

"Yes," she replied, "It's what I needed, I think. Everything was different without you."

The irony of what she had just said was not lost on her, and she felt a wave of guid wash over her again. It was her who had wanted to do this in the first place, her who had plaintively, naively invited him into this with her, her who had created this hell for him. No wonder he didn't want to talk to her about it. For another moment she could hardly look at him, she was so frightened of seeing disappointment in his eyes, or the same disgust that she felt at herself.

"Lissy," he asked her softly, a moment later when she did not come back to him, "Lissy, are you alright?"

She nodded.

"Do you just want to go to bed?" he asked her, "You look like you're quite tired."

Oh god, she did, she just wanted to go to bed as they had done last night and hold onto the front of his T shirt as she slept.

She shook her head.

"I've got marking to do," she replied.

"Do five year olds do work that needs marking?" he asked, looking appalled.

She smiled.

"I'm also teaching French to year six," she told him.

He smiled.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked him

"You were cut out for more," he said softly, "I knew it when we were at Oxford, Phil, you could change the world. You did."

She could only half-smile at his praise of her, which she felt wholly unworthy of.

"I still do," she told him, "But in smaller ways. And if I ever did, then you did too. You were always cut out for more."

"Yeah, well," he gave a low sigh, "I may have to come and be your classroom assistant for a while."

"Why?" she asked him, "Charles told me he was going to let you come back."

"He is," he replied, "Not straight away."

She could tell from his face that this arrangement made him deeply unhappy.

"Perhaps that's for the best," she suggested tentatively, "Maybe some rest will help."

It struck her that it was difficult for her to say this with any force or conviction when she was not sure what, precisely, it would help with. He too looked unconvinced.

"I want to work," he replied, "I always did."

She sighed quietly, because it was true. There was very little she could do but give him a look of sympathy.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get this done, I've been crazy busy. Hope you enjoy this chapter. **

She got home and dumped her bag at the foot of her bed, and then let herself fall forwards onto it. It was unmade, but at least unoccupied. Part of her had expected to come back and find Joe still tucked in there, dosing away. Not that she'd actually have minded, but it would have that she couldn't crash out here like this, which was exactly what she wanted to do at that moment.

Her eyes were shut tight against the brightness of west-facing window in the late afternoon, and she only opened them because the creasing of her frown was starting to give her a headache. When she did, something on the opposite wall caught her eye. Fastened to her noticeboard with a single pin was an A4 piece of lined paper, written on in pencil, just too faintly to see from her. Curious, she stood up and walked to the wall.

She read the single sentence it bore, unfastened it from the wall, read it again and smiled, softly. Without it being signed, she knew exactly whose handwriting it was.

_Can we talk properly tonight? _

She smiled at the paper, putting it down on her pillow, straightening the large shirt she was wearing over her tank top absent-mindedly. And then her smile faded. Oh Christ, she was actually going to have to talk about this, wasn't she. She sighed heavily, sitting back down on the edge of her bed, picking the piece of paper again and holding it between her thumb and her fore-finger, as much just to hold it as to look at it.

The truth was that she didn't know what she wanted to say to him when they did talk. Usually it was the case that she knew exactly what she wanted to say but wanted to avoid the inevitable repercussions of honesty. Normally a great deal of certainty was there, but this time it was distinctly lacking. The only thing she could actually say for certain was that she had spent the vast majority of the class she had hurried to thinking about the way he'd kissed her when they were still back in this room.

Which in itself was absolutely not on. Not in three years had she spent a class in such a state of distraction, over a boy. Well, a man, really, now, they had both grown up at some point, it seemed. But the point was, she had never allowed sex, or romance, or whatever the hell kissing Joseph after they'd crashed out together counted as, to interfere with her work. Ever. It was not on, it was not the way she did things. She was going to get a first, there was no question about it in here mind. She had to. But she would not if she spent the time between now and finals dreaming away. She was going to have to talk to him. She sighed again, putting the paper down on her pillow.

There was no point in putting this off. Well, there was, put that point was wholly cowardly, and she had no time for being cowardly. She would go and see if he was in now.

For some reason, she picked up the paper again as she stood up and went out into the corridor. She made her was down the two flights of stairs and round the corner to his door. She knocked, and there was a moment before he opened it. When he did, she was standing there, simply holding up the piece of paper so he could see the words he himself had written. _Can we talk properly tonight?_ He smiled at her, probably inferring from her face that she did not know how else to start.

"Come in," he told her, stepping aside and holding the door open for her, telling her with a slightly conspiratorial smirk, "Jeremy is out at the pub."

"Thank god for that," she replied, stepping past him into his room.

His room was smarter than hers was as a result of having less in it and being slightly bigger. There was an armchair there that there hadn't been room for in hers, and he indicated that she should sit in it if she wanted to. She smiled to herself, thinking that he wouldn't need to risk her falling asleep in his bed tonight. He sat down on the bed himself, facing her at a right-angle, leaving forwards a little.

"How was your class?" he asked her.

"Alright," she replied dismissively, "Not my best."

He smiled apologetically at her.

"Bit tired?" he asked.

"Probably," she told him, "After last night."

"I'm sorry," he told her again, "I should have gone sooner."

"I've told you, it doesn't matter," she answered, "You gave me a lift."

There was a moment's silence. Both of them grasped their hands gently, a little awkwardly, together.

"Listen," she finally managed to say, "What happened this morning-…"

"I'm sorry," he told her quickly, he seemed to have been getting ready to say it all day, "I overstepped a mark."

"Did you?" she asked in reply, as much to herself as to him, tipping her head thoughtfully to the side a moment, "Well, perhaps you did. But it doesn't matter, I didn't-… mind, per se-…"

She watched his face. He looked confused, and maybe a little relieved. Or hopeful.

"Look, Joe, whatever you do, don't worry about this morning, or last night," she told him firmly, "I had a nice evening, and a nice morning. So please don't worry."

"Alright," he replied, giving her a little smile that led her know she had consoled him, "Thanks."

They both paused. There was an air of the unfinished about their conversation, but neither of them seemed to know exactly how to proceed. Damn it, she'd only had one piece of paper to get them started, what she needed was another now.

"I've been wondering," he broke into her thoughts, a welcome interruption to the present disorder, speaking in a softly, slow, slightly shy voice, "If you're going to the end of term ball?"

"Yeah, Anna booked us all tickets," she reminded him.

He nodded.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go with me," he asked her, in a very fluid way, as if forcing all of the words out at once to ensure that he didn't bail out once he'd started, "You know, as, sort of, a pair," he clarified, in something closer to his earlier faltering way.

She sat there for a moment, in a state of considerable surprise. This had suddenly become very… courtly. She bit back an amused smile; it had obviously taken him a great deal of courage to get the words out, to seem to laugh in any way would be very unfair to him.

"It could just be the one night, if you wanted," he chipped in, "No pressure at all. I know you probably haven't got a lot of time at the moment for, you know, anything like this. I just thought it could be nice if we went out that one time together-…"

"Hang on, Joe," she told him gently, holding up her hand to silence and soothe him, "Give me a second."

"Right, sure."

He sat there in very contained silence that threatened to make her smile again, so she looked at the opposite wall as she turned the offer over in her mind.

"The thing is, Joe," she explained at last, "I can't get involved with anyone, at all, until after finals."

"That's fair enough," he replied swiftly, nodding with a little more conviction than the slight dejection on his face really allowed for.

"I'm sorry," she went on as delicately as she could, "But it's not something I can even think about at the minute, I just haven't got the space in my brain for it. Christ, even today-…" she trailed off, thinking it would be kind but also possibly injudicious to let on to him that she had spent almost the entirety of her class thinking about him. But he was intuitive, he probably caught on anyway, and so she pressed on, "But afterwards, is different. I've got a few weeks before I start my job," she explained,"And I think that going to the ball at the end of term, with you, is something that I'd enjoy quite a lot."

He was disguising that smile very poorly.

"It'll be fun," he told her.

"Yeah, I think it will be," she replied, smiling back at him, "And we do have that appointment to get outstandingly drunk together, remember?"

"I'm not likely to forget," he answered, "I'm looking forward to it."

She grinned.

"That's good."

She hesitated for a brief contented moment before she told him, regretfully; "I really should go and do some more revision."

"No, I know, me too," he agreed, "At least you went to class this morning, I spent most of in napping."

She laughed, standing up.

"Lucky bastard," she told him, and he laughed too.

He went to the door before her, opening it, only a little way. He seemed to have suddenly had a final thought and she was about to ask him what was wrong when he turned back to her, his hand still on the handle of the slightly opened door.

"I have thought about what you said," he informed her, "And I was thinking, you know, why not apply?"

The corners of her mouth turned upwards.

"Good," she replied softly.

He seemed further bolstered by her approval.

"I mean, what harm can it do," he asked her, "Just applying?"

"Exactly," she replied, reaching beyond him to open the door herself, "What harm?" before leaving the room and making her way back up the stairs to hers.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	9. Chapter 9

**I'd really like to know what you think about this story, you reviews mean a lot. **

**2015**

It was the weekend at last. In the three weeks he'd been back, she'd noticed that the weekends were so wonderfully easier that it was barely believable, and that ease began with the morning, as early as they woke. It wasn't just the extra sleep and not having to dash out of the flat before it was properly light and having to leave him, it was the lack of the reminder that she was working and he was not allowed to; that she had walked away from the job that he was now itching to do.

But it would be wrong to imply that the fact that she simply did not have to physically leave him was not the most persuasive factor motivating her suddenly renewed love for weekends. Being able to wake up and stay beside him in this little room, in this bed, the first bed they'd bought together, the bed where they'd slept together after they were married, the bed they'd made love in countless times, was literally all she'd really wanted for years now.

She liked it so much that now they barely opened the curtains on a Saturday.

Their limbs tangled insistently together. They had woken up not much differently to the way they lay now, with their arms cradling one another and their faces close together, they woke like that most days, expect now they were kissing each other; slowly and sweetly, and then a little more insistently, then hungrily. He already had her pyjama shirt off, he had got very good now at slipping the buttons off almost without her noticing. Well, it had once been his, she thought to herself, and she was sure she had never been that good at it.

"What are you smiling at?" he enquired of her.

"Just thinking about how these used to be yours," she replied, taking advantage of him moment's stillness to slip off the pyjama bottoms too, letting them fall out of the bed onto the floor.

"Yes, I had noticed you appropriating my clothing," he replied, then, pressing another kiss to her mouth, "I don't mind."

"Good," she replied, "Because I took a few of your ties too."

He snorted softly with laughter, pressing his mouth back to hers, letting his hands roam freely over her naked body.

"You've still got your pyjamas on," she pointed out, half complaining.

"So I have," he agreed, as if just noticing as much himself.

She groaned as he pressed his erection against her hip, then again against her centre through the flannel trousers.

"Take them off," she murmured in his ear.

He grinned at her, whipping the shirt off over his head so swiftly that he almost bashed his head against hers, discarding it on the floor as she had done with hers. She slipped her hands beneath the waistband of his trousers, cupping his buttocks in her hands, pressing herself against him again, making sure it was her teasing him this time. He kissed her hard, his hands in her hair. She nudged gently away from his hands though, softly moving down his body, leaving a slow trail of open-mouthed kisses on his flesh. She paused just above his waistband, gently gathering the fabric and pushing it down, gathering the trousers off his legs and quickly kicking them out of bed. Her hands settled softly on his buttocks again as she took him in her mouth. She felt him tense a little, and his hand in her hair. Immediately, she drew away, looking up at his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

There was a look of strain on his face. He did not respond.

"Joseph?" she pressed, "Don't you like it?"

"It's just-… It sounds odd."

"No it won't," she insisted, straightening up so that they were on the same level, "Tell me."

Still, he hesitated.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," he asked her softly.

"I won't," she replied in a beat, "Please, Joseph, you have to tell me," for some reason her heart was beating out of her chest, "I don't want to do anything that you don't want me to. I don't want to-… hurt you."

"I know you don't," he told her, "But it's just a bit difficult for me, when you-…"

Whatever she had been expecting, it was not that. It had never been that way before, quite the reverse in fact. She tried not to think of what horrifying reason might lie behind that. Over the last few weeks she had been certain to scan him for signs of injury in his trouser area. There were some visible scars on his hips, but thankfully no more than that.

"Oh?" was all she could say, her voice weak and uncertain.

He could obvious sense her confusion, and explained in a soft voice;

"It's just-… Being that passive feels different for me now, after-…"

Comprehension dawned upon her. Of course that would be difficult for him, she should have known as much. She swallowed, hard.

"So, when I've tried to do that for you before, since you've come back, that was why you wouldn't let me?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"I didn't really know how to explain," he said to her, "I wish I could have told you properly."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, "I know now."

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked her tentatively. His arm wrapped around her body, resting in her lower back, slowly stroking a row of parallel lines with the pad of his thumb, "You don't find me less of a man?"

"You fool," she murmured softly, leaning in to kiss him.

Their mouths met and they kissed each other slowly, reassuringly. Things were coming out now, gradually, bit by bit. His experiences were manifesting themselves in their daily life, and little by little she was gain insights into what had happened to him, and sometimes explanations. She had learned not to push him to explain if he did not want to. But she noticed things. The enhanced sensitivity to bright lights, the aversion to pressure on his shoulders, the pressing need he seemed to feel stop dripping taps. She noticed the tiny physical ticks that he forgot or did not know to suppress. And now this dislike of passivity; she supposed it made sense, thinking about their lovemaking since he returned. She let out a quiet sigh against his lips. A very little wave of relief swept over her. She was gaining ground slowly but surely.

She pulled her mouth gently away from his.

"Would it feel any better if you did the same for me at the same time?" she asked him.

"Yes," he replied softly, smiling at her, "That would be alright."

She gently shifted around in the bed so that she was lying on her side facing his penis. She took him firmly in her hand first, bending her leg at the knee, resting herself open for him to explore. She felt his hands on the top of her thighs as she swept her hands around his lower back and took him into her mouth again. She felt his cock swell a little with arousal as she had not before, and she was consoled that he was more comfortable than he had been before. The feeling of his fingers pressing her folds apart, and then a second later his tongue, made her sigh gently around him. Her arms were wrapped around his hips, there was barely any need for him to thrust, he was already so close to her, so deep within her. She liked having him like this, and not only because she could feel his tongue pressing indelible strokes on her soft intimate flesh. She swirled her mouth thoroughly around his head as he flicked his tongue playfully inside her. His hands had her pegged in place too; her knees pressed around his ear to avoid his shoulders, his hands moving in soft circles, kneading her buttocks gently. A moment later, his tongue began playing with her clitoris, making her moan against him again, his fingers moving to delve deep inside her, filling her completely. She swallowed, and he came. Quickly, she swallowed again, letting out a deep sigh as she felt him bury his face against her. He rested for a few moments, and then she felt his tongue resume its moments against her, dipping deep inside her, his fingers working carefully against her clitoris until she came too, gasping, her knees clamping around his ears.

His hands stroked gently over her behind, soothing her as her climax abated. There was a moment's pause.

"How was that for you?" she asked him, cautiously.

She heard him give a soft, sighing smile and twisted round to look at him. He gave a little snort at the sight of her.

"You don't have to worry about me, you know," he told her, "Not when we're like this."

She bit back the instinct to say that it was difficult not to.

"I think I've always have, a little bit," she told him after a moment.

"And you've always taken very good care of me because of it," he replied.

She blinked at him with unusual meekness, smiling at him almost over her own shoulder.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, quietly, "It's only what you've done for me."

She was still leaning up and twisting around to look at him.

"For God's sakes, Phil," he told her gently, "Come back up here, you'll put your neck out if you do that much longer."

She righted herself, moving around to lie back beside him again.

"Come here," he told her quietly, reaching his arms out for her, and she did, burying her head against his chest again.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	10. Chapter 10

**This may or may not be a fairly accurate scene from my real life. **

Within four weeks, the nights were coming in later and sun spilled into the windows of the studies on Oxford High Street well past six o'clock. And, more importantly, mercifully, finals were over. It was that, more than anything else, which accounted for the fact that Phyllis was lying on her back, in a patch of white sunlight on the carpet of Anna's study. Anna herself sat on the window seat, the beam of light just touching the blonde hair on the top of her head, and her boyfriend John pottered about at the other side of the room, pottering about a bit, putting some of the beers he'd brought with him into the fridge.

"That's the most relaxed I've seen you look in three years, Phil," he told her, crossing the room and nudging Phyllis's hand with a bottle of beer.

"Cheers," she told him, sitting up, "Can you pass me the bottle opener?"

John took it off the mantle piece and threw it gently to her.

"Cheers," she replied, "Yeah, I feel pretty great at the moment."

She heard a gentle sigh from Anna's direction and grinned across the room at her. As a second year, Anna still had the worst of it to come. Even now, Phyllis noticed, Anna had what looked like the Riverside Chaucer open on her knee.

"Don't worry," Phyllis told her softly, "This time next year, you'll be free."

"Personally, I'd rather it was now," Anna replied.

"It'll come quickly enough," Phyllis promised her.

"Yeah, and then we'll have to find ourselves jobs," John reminded her, "We can't all go into the civil service like Phil," he made a face, "We don't all want to go into the civil service for that matter."

"Even with me?" Phyllis asked him over her shoulder.

"No offence, Phil," John opened his own beer, "You've converted Joe and that'll have to be enough for now. Unless I get very desperate this time next year."

Phyllis smiled to herself, and said nothing.

"Is Joe coming round tonight?" Anna asked John.

"I hope so, but you'd better ask Phil if you want to know for certain."

Phyllis rolled her eyes- she had been wondering when this would start. Lately John had been rather keen on dropping hints about her and Joe. Well, if it was anyone's fault it was probably theirs, after the scene John had found in his own study the night after exams finished they'd probably given him ample cause to wonder. And he wasn't being as bad as Thomas was-….

There was a mischievous smile on Anna's face.

"Yeah, what's the latest with you and Joe?" she wanted to know.

Phyllis grimaced, rolling her eyes again. Now it was John who was grinning. When Phyllis didn't answer, John told Anna;

"The night we all went out after finals were over-…"

"You who didn't have a class the next day," Anna reminded him.

"Yeah," he smiled gently, "So everyone except you-… Well, that night I came back here, with my takeaway, just expecting to eat my chips in peace. And I don't know if you remember, but a few people had planned to stay over at mine, amongst whom were Phil and Joe-…"

"Yes…" Anna said slowly, then her eyes widened, "Oh, they weren't-…"

"NO, Anna Smith, we most certainly were not!" Phyllis told her sharply, "This is not first year, and this is me and Joe we're talking about, not Glynis and Jeremy."

Their housemates Glynis Denker and Jeremy Spratt had become something close to legendary having been caught in the common room in a compromising position within the first term. To the best of anyone's knowledge they hadn't spoken a civil word to one another since.

"No," John confirmed, once he'd finished laughing, "It's ok, they weren't. Phil was asleep facedown, literally in a puddle of vodka we're you're sitting right now, and Joe had passed on the floor next to her out with one leg in my sleeping bag."

"I'm sorry," Phyllis told him again, "I must have knocked it over in my sleep."

"It's alright," John replied, "It didn't stain. It was just a bit sticky, that's all."

Anna grimaced a little, and shifted in her seat but she seemed too well settled to actually move.

"So," Anna asked Phyllis a moment later, "Are you and Joe getting sticky together anywhere else?"

Phyllis snorted and nearly spat out her beer.

"No, we're not," she replied above John's peals of laughter, "We're actually being very old fashioned about it," she looked at both of their faces, trying to detect the hint of surprise or scepticism she was half-expecting to see there, "I know that's a bit of a first for me but, you know, it's Joe-… I don't want to mess things up by being too hasty."

Both Anna and John looked quite impassive about the whole thing.

"I think it's nice," John supplied after a moment, "And Joe's quite an old-fashioned sort of chap."

"Yes, he is," Anna agreed, "I think it'll suit him. Well played, Baxter," she winked at Phyllis.

Phyllis shook her head a little. Anna was a far cry from the timid first year she'd met two years ago; much more cut out for the world but on the other hand much more inclined to tease as well.

"To get back to the original point," John began again when neither Phyllis nor Anna spoke, "Is Joe coming round tonight? You are the one who lives in the same house as him," he reminded Phyllis gently.

"Yes, I know," she replied, pretending to be sharp with him, "And yes, he said he was. And Glyn and Jeremy said they were too."

"Dangerous," Anna murmured, and Phyllis grinned.

"There's still one thing I don't understand," John wondered out loud a moment later, "Even if you did both pass out in different places on the floor, my floor, why did you and Joe leave together that night?"

Phyllis frantically fought the urge to flush bright red. Anna was looking at her with great interest.

"We were both tired," she replied, "We thought we should call it a night. We were very drunk," she added, rather unnecessarily, given the position John had found Joe in.

"Gosh, and I thought I'd left early," John remarked.

Anna's eyebrows were raised.

"And you're sure nothing happened on the way home?" she asked her.

Phyllis could tell when she was being seen through.

"We may have kissed a little bit," she admitted, "Nothing more."

Anna looked a little bit thrilled.

"You're going to get together," she declared, "You're going to get married."

"Steady on," Phyllis told her, "We're only going to the college ball together, not the flaming church."

"Exactly," John replied, "You're going to the ball together. We're not even officially going to the ball together," he indicated to Anna, and she shook her head in confirmation.

"But that's different," Phyllis insisted, "It's-…"

She was spared the need to articulate precisely why her situation was different by a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Anna called.

It was Joe, with Glyn and Jeremy trailing behind him in ominous silence. Evidently neither had known that the other would coming.

"Everyone alright?" Joe grinned sheepishly and sat down beside Phyllis.

"Yeah," John replied, "Have a beer. They're in the fridge."

"Oh cheers, don't mind if I do," he stood up and went over to the fridge.

Meanwhile, Glynis and Jeremy had chosen seats as far away from one another as possible. Both Phyllis and Anna noticed, and exchanged a covert smile.

Without asking if she wanted one, Joe saw that Phyllis was finished her beer and brought her another one.

"Trying to get me drunk?" she asked him in a low voice, hoping that John and Anna wouldn't overhear and spring upon them.

Joe raised his eyebrows.

"If I was I would do it with more than two beers," he replied.

She smiled. He was right about that. But John and Anna were right to pick up on something too; things were changing between her and Joe and she didn't think the start of it had been them kissing, which they were doing increasingly often now, or him asking her to go to the ball with him, but when he'd told her that his application to MI5 had also been successful-… They were trading in secrets already, albeit only their personal ones. She liked it. It was intimate and exciting in an implicitly quiet way. That was probably why she was so defensive when they questioned her about it; she was not ready to let anyone else into this secrecy yet, she wanted it just for her and him.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hope you're still enjoying this, I'd love to know what you're thinking.**

She was sitting alone at a table with a white cloth, in the middle of a busy dining room. She had not been to the annual Home Office dinner and dance for years, and it was not something she had missed. To be honest, she was more interested in examining the crumbs on the table cloth than talking to any of the people she had seen, the personnel of the department had altered so much since she'd worked for the government. Charles and Elsie were both here, but as a head of department plenty of people wanted to talk to Charles, so much so that Elsie had taken on the valiant role of trying to deflect the people he didn't really want to talk to. But Charles had been the one to suggest that it would be a good idea for her and Joe to come tonight, for him to be able to get to know the people he'd be going back to work with. She felt the kick in the teeth at the implication that she would not be there when he did. She was only here as Joe's wife. That was something she was wholly unused to, but she was proud nonetheless. And it had the undoubted plus-side that no one was paying her any attention.

But she wished she knew where Joe was. A little while ago someone knew from their section had wanted to speak to him- he had looked absurdly young, Phyllis had thought, barely more than a boy- and they had gone to the bar and she had not seen either of them since. He had been a bit quiet as they left the flat and it had left her a little bit unsettled. She was wearing a shiny black dress that was good for disguising the black iPhone on her knee when the screen was dimmed. She checked it again. Nothing. What she was expecting exactly, she did not know. She was checking it almost nervously; torn between anxiety and boredom. Resting her forehead carefully against her fingers, she gave a quiet sigh.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned quickly, expecting Joe. It was not.

"Oh, hello," she said to Charles softly, looking up at him at his not inconsiderable height, even slightly inclined towards her.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked her quietly, "Or do you want to be left alone?"

"No, sit down," she replied, "I don't mind you."

She saw him smiling slightly, trying to disguise it. He knew that that was a compliment coming from her. God, somewhere over the years she'd become really quite severe. With most people.

"Have you seen Joe anywhere?" she asked him.

"Believe it or not I don't provide a husband-tracking service," Charles quipped, looking a little tired as he settled his eyes on her, "I'm sorry, no I haven't."

She gave a half-smiled.

"That's funny, I could have sworn that's what you did do," she replied.

Just as she herself had done a moment ago, he rested his forehead briefly against his hand.

"Well, if I do I'm not very good at it," he told her, "I've lost track of Elsie too."

"They'll turn up," she assured him.

"Oh yes," he replied lightly, "They will." There was a moment's pause. "How are things Phyllis? With you?"

"Me?" she replied, "I'm fine. A bit bored, maybe, and I wish I knew where Joe was but-…"

"I meant at home," he replied, "With Joe."

"Oh," she replied softly.

Oh, damn. He really was asking that. She was silent for a moment.

"Fine," she replied, "As good as could be expected. Better, even."

"Oh?" he looked encouraged by her response, if surprised.

"Yes," she affirmed, "It's really lovely to have him back."

"Of course it is," he acknowledged, "Of course. But difficult too?"

She shrugged slightly.

"A little," she replied, "But I would take the difficulty any day rather than-…"

"Of course," he replied, nodding, "Of course you would."

They were silent for a few moments.

"It's not so bad," she told him, "But I just wish he would talk to me. I mean, really open up. I know it's hard for him, I know. But we've never had secrets from each other. We've always kept our secrets together."

"As your boss I didn't hear that," Charles replied, "And cautiously remind you that you did sign the Official Secrets Act, you both did."

"I mean our personal secrets," she told him, "He knows everything. He did."

Charles eyes flitted towards her.

"I was going to say, you surprise me there," he told her, "I didn't think you'd told him about-…"

"I will," she told him hastily, "But this is the thing that's difficult for me to say to him."

"I know," Charles replied sagely, "I understand."

Irrationally, Phyllis wanted to tell him that he didn't, he couldn't. But she couldn't do that. Charles had been very kind to her and Joe. He was a retiring man, and he was doing his best to understand this bizarre situation.

"You know the DG is here?" Charles told her, "She seemed pretty keen to have a word with Joe."

"What, old Violet?" she asked him.

It had been recently announced that Violet Crawley, Isobel's first head of section, had been made Director General of 5. She had been in imperious in the old days, Phyllis could only imagine what she'd be like now.

"What does she want with Joe?" she asked him.

"To thank him, I think," Charles replied, "For his outstanding service. I know," he added, catching the look on her face, "To hear that she wants to see any man for a reason other than to eat him alive came as a shock to me too."

She smiled vaguely at that. That was a pretty accurate assessment of Violet. Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her phone against her palm. It was from Elsie.

"Oh no," she stood up abruptly, muttering under her breath, "Shit."

Charles also stood up.

"What is it?" he asked her.

She handed him her phone, and left before he could give it back.

_Come now. Bathroom on the fifth floor. It's Joe. _

Shit, she should have known that something was going to happen when he had been so quiet earlier on. Phyllis made her way blindly through the other tables and then across the dancefloor, not caring about the people around her, making a beeline for the door and for the stairs. She barely even noticed that Charles was following her, bringing her phone with him. She took the stairs two at a time, turning sharp left into the empty corridor, breaking out into a run.

"Joe!" she called, clattering through the door at the other end of the corridor, not even thinking that she didn't know where the bathroom was, just trying desperately to find him.

"In here, Phyllis."

It was Elsie's voice. She has been going so quickly that she had almost instantly drawn level with a door, half-open, half way down the hall, which was obviously the bathroom.

Elsie stood back, opening the door letting Phyllis inside. Her eyes immediately took in the room, finding Joe leaning against the sink at the far side. He was looking at the floor. He embodied the despondency she had noticed in him earlier, only worse.

"What happened?" Phyllis asked Elsie in a low voice, lingering by the door.

"I found him having a panic attack," Elsie replied softly, "I think it was all the people that did it. I brought him up here. I think the worst of it is over."

Elsie rested her hand gently on Phyllis's arm.

"I'll leave you," she told her.

Phyllis squeezed her hand gently for a moment.

"Thank you," she told her quietly, and then, "Charles is on his way up here too."

"That's alright," Elsie replied, slipping out of the door, "I'll meet him on the way down."

She closed the door behind her. Phyllis looked over at her husband.

"Joe?" she murmured softly, approaching him slowly, "Are you alright, my love?"

He looked up at her in such surprise and confusion that she added, "It's me, Lissy," as if he needed to be reminded of that. He looked terrible. His arm gave a jerk, as if to reach out for her, but then fell back to his side, helplessly. But she took the hint, moving swiftly towards him, wrapping him securely in her arms, cradling his head with her hands.

"What happened, sweetheart?" she asked him.

But at the moment, it seemed he didn't want to talk, he had buried his face in her neck. And he was crying.

"Oh my love," she told him softly, stroking her hand up and down his back, her hand spread wide, trying to soothe him, "It's alright, it's alright. I'm here. I love you. It's alright."

He continued to cry against her shoulder, a catch sounding in his throat, his breathing uncontrolled. Her stomach seemed to clench. She could remember her own panic attacks, and she wanted to talk him through it.

"Elsie said you didn't like being around so many people?" she questioned him softly, "I'm sorry, my love, I should have thought about that. We should have just stayed at home."

"Everyone thinks I'm weak, Phil," he said softly, his voice hoarse and broken.

"What?" she asked him, "What to you mean by that?"

"They think I'm finished," he told her, pulling away from her neck, trying to meet her eye, "Because I fucked up in Russia. They think I'm too weak to come back to work, and they're right."

"No one thinks that," she told him firmly, grasping a hold of the front of his jacket, tugging at it a little, "No one thinks you're weak. They'd have to be mad to think that. Anyone who has any idea what you went through would have to be insane to say that you're weak. You are anything but that. You may not be ready to come back to work yet, but you will be."

He said nothing, and she felt as if he wasn't listening to her.

"I'm so proud of you," she told him quietly, but with all the conviction she possessed in her voice, "I'm so proud of you because you're so bloody strong, Joseph. You're incredible. I'm so proud that you're my husband."

Beyond that she didn't know what she could say. She kissed his forehead, whispering, "I love you" to him again.

"I don't deserve you, Phyllis," he said softly.

She pulled away from him a touch so that she could look at him clearly. Cupping his face softly, she made him look at her too, even as tears were welling in her own eyes.

"You may not be weak," she told him quietly, her voice shaking as she spoke, "But you're a bloody fool to say things like that, Joseph Molesley."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Sorry it's been a while, by work is stepping up again. Hope you enjoy this. **

"Phyllis Baxter, you look fantastic."

Phyllis turned around, her lipstick still in her hand, to see Anna standing in the doorway of her own bedroom as Phyllis borrowed her mirror. She grinned in spite of herself. Modesty aside, she was rather pleased with the dress she'd found for the ball. She'd treated herself to a new one for the end of finals, and decided that it would not be black, because all her clothes were black and apparently Glyn had been asking if anyone thought she was depressed.

"What do you think," she asked Anna, "With or without the lipstick?"

"Oh, with," Anna told her, taking it out of her hands for a moment and inspecting the colour, "That dark red will go so well with the blue," she reached out for a second and wistfully touched the electric blue of Phyllis' dress.

Smiling to herself, Phyllis turned back towards the mirror to apply the lipstick.

"On second thoughts," Anna continued, diverting her attention from the dress and back to teasing Phyllis again, "You'd better hope that it stays on your mouth exceptionally well. Or that that red will suit Joe's colouring."

Phyllis met her eyes in the mirror, raising her eyebrows warningly. Anna grinned back at her.

"I don't know," Phyllis told her, clicking the lipstick shut again with a little smile, "I think it'll look quite sexy on him."

Anna, having just sat down on the edge of her bed, was now sprawled out, roaring with laughter.

"Are you going to get ready?" Phyllis asked her, "Or are you going to the ball in your shorts and T-shirt."

"No, I'm getting ready," Anna replied, picking herself and heading over to the wardrobe, "I'm getting ready right now."

Phyllis sat down on the end of the bed that Anna had just vacated.

"Are Glynis and Daisy honouring us with their presence before we go and find John and Joe?" she asked.

"Not sure," came Anna's reply from behind the door, along with a pair of white shoes that she trough out onto the floor, "I told them they could if they wanted to. And if they brought wine."

"Well, Glyn won't let you down there," Phyllis replied ruefully, "That's nice," she told her, as Anna returned from the wardrobe, hanging up a pale green dress up on the door frame.

"Nothing as eye-catching as yours," Anna replied softly.

Phyllis sniffed a little.

"That doesn't matter," she told her, "You suit a softer colour," she continued, looking at her friend critically for a moment, "In fact you just have a softer face. You have a much nicer face than I do."

"I doubt very much that Joe thinks that," Anna replied, letting her hair out to brush it, "Sorry," she murmured a second later, when she caught the exasperated look on Phyllis' face, "I'll give it a rest."

"No," Phyllis told her a moment later, looking down at her own hands, playing with the ring she was wearing, "It's not you."

The complete drop of mirth in her tone must have made Anna turn around.

"What is it then?" she asked her seriously.

"I just-… I don't know how serious Joe is about this whole thing. About me and him. I don't know what he would see in me, I suppose-…"

"Phil, are you being serious?" Anna asked her, "Joe loves you, he's crazy about you!"

Phyllis looked up at her doubtfully.

"Look, Phil, John and I have been dating for one and a half years, even we aren't going to this ball officially together, but Joe made a point of asking you to go with him. I'd say he was pretty serious about this."

Phyllis smiled, a little bit weakly.

"i know it's difficult to really believe someone wants to be with you until you've had official confirmation, as it were, it always is. But I don't think you have anything to worry about," Anna smiled at her gently, "I really don't. Ok?"

Phyllis did her best to smile more certainly this time.

"Ok," she replied.

Anna gave her a sympathetic look, but there was a knock at the door before she could say anything else.

"That's probably Glyn," she told her, turning to open the door, "I could do with some wine. Oh," surprise registered in her tone, "Come in, Joe, I thought you were going to be Glynis."

"She's popped to the off licence," Joe explained, "She told me to say she'd be here in a-…"

His eyes fell on Phyllis, sitting on Anna's bed with her back against the wall, dressed up to the nines, her head bowed a little in contemplation and a little ruefulness that he'd taken her by surprise like this. But the way his sentence stopped abruptly made her look up. He too was ready, dressed in black tie, he looked very smart indeed. Even if his mouth was open and he was gaping a little bit.

"Was there something in particular Joe?" Anna asked, breaking the silence.

"Oh, yes," he offered her the bottle of wine in his hand, "Daisy asked me to bring this over. Said she'll be here in a minute."

"Great," Anna replied, accepting the wine, "Thanks. See you round at John's at eight?"

"Right," Joe replied, his eyes floating back to Phyllis, "John's. That's where I'll be."

"Ok, see you there," Anna told him.

"See you," he replied, and then he was gone.

Anna shut the door behind him, turning to look rather smugly at Phyllis, leaning back against the door.

"What are you smiling at?" Phyllis asked her.

"You have nothing to worry about," Anna told her.

—

By ten o'clock it was very dark, except for the streams of little lights that had been rigged up across the quad. The ball was in full swing and so, to a mixture of amusement and exasperation, was Glynis.

"Come on, Glyn," Phyllis told her, as she made for one of the waiters again, "I really think we should have water this time."

Glynis paid no attention at all, except to frown. She did not slow her walk in the slightest, unsteady as it was.

"Come on, Glyn," Phyllis told her trying to pull her by the arm, succeeding only in ending up holding hands with her as her other hand settled on another glass of champagne, which she proceeded to snigger gleefully into.

"Having trouble?" Somehow Joe had arrived.

"She just won't stop drinking," Phyllis told him helplessly, as Glynis threw an arm around her, "Where is everyone?"

"We were all looking for you," he replied, "We wondered where you'd got to. Easy now, Glyn!" he exclaimed as she threw an enthusiastic arm around him too.

"There you are!" Anna and John had found them, "We were looking for you."

"Yeah, well, I've been attending to this one," she indicated to Glynis, just as she started loudly, drunkenly singing, and swaying, trying to make Phyllis and Joe sway too, "Glynis, you're going to get us thrown out!"

"No, I won't," Glynis replied dismissively, "This is a classy place."

"No it's not," Phyllis told her crossly, "It's literally college, and you're rapidly lowering the class of it."

"It's alright," Anna told her, stepping in quickly to relieve her of Glynis' arm, before she became even more cross, "We've got her, haven't we John? We'll see she gets to bed."

"Yes, we will," John agreed, relieving Joe of Glynis other arm, "You two have a nice time."

"Are you sure?" Phyllis asked, suddenly feeling guilty at having made a fuss- she didn't want to spoil John and Anna's night too.

"Yes, of course," John told her, as he and Anna began the mammoth task of getting Glynis to turn in the right direction, "You've done enough."

"Alright," she replied gratefully, "See you later maybe?"

"Sure. See you!"

She stood with Joe, watching Anna and Joe valiantly carting Glynis off through the crowd of people who had gathered to marvel at the state she was in.

"Brave people," she said, meaning it.

"God, I know," he replied, "They've put me to bed a few times when I've been worse for wear. They're very good at it."

She smiled.

"Well I hope you're not feeling worse for wear now," she told him, smiling up at him, "Because you'll have to wait until they've sorted Glynis out."

He smiled back at her.

"I feel fine," he replied.

"Good,' she told him.

"Do you fancy another drink?" he asked her.

"Maybe wait a bit?" she answered.

"Probably for the best," he agreed, obviously thinking about Glynis too, "Very wise."

She paused for a moment.

"I was wondering if you fancied a dance," she murmured a moment later.

His eyes settled on her, and for a second, for several longs seconds, he seemed to look at her as he had done up in Anna's bedroom.

"Less wise," he replied.

But he offered her his hand, as he had done on several nights when they'd been drunker than they were on this one, in various nightclubs, at various parties, and lead her through the arch into the other quad where music was playing and people were dancing. And as she usually did, she twined her fingers with his, and he gave her hand a little squeeze.

And then they were in the middle of the people and they were dancing together. He was holding both her hands, and she was smiling.

And his hands were winding round her body, and he was holding onto her. Her hands settled on the front of his jacket, holding onto his lapels to steady herself.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, leaning in so that she could hear him over the music.

"Yes," she nodded her reply.

"Not too tipsy?"

She grinned back up at him.

"No," she replied.

His eyes widened a little as he realised that she was holding on to him only because she wanted to.

"Good," he replied, more quietly now, "You look beautiful, Phyllis."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	13. Chapter 13

**I found this chapter super difficult to write and if I'm honest I put it off a bit. I hope it's alright and that you like it. **

They sat together in the back of Charles' car, each looking out of their own window at the night lights of central London. Elsie sat in the front passenger seat beside Charles. All four of them were silent. Phyllis felt a little bit like a disobedient child being taken home from school. Charles was driving swiftly, probably out of his anxiety to get them home quickly but the speed of the passing lights was making her feel almost queasy. She looked down and fiddled with the handle of her handbag on her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that Joseph was sitting almost deadly still. Her stomach churned unpleasantly.

They reached the flat in quite a short time, their arrival took her by surprise.

"We should be getting back," Charles told them both sagely, avoiding the need for them to ask them in for coffee.

Joseph got out of the car quickly, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

Phyllis leant forwards a little as she extracted herself from her seatbelt.

"Thank you," she told Charles and Elsie, her voice low and serious, "Thank you so much."

"Call me?" Elsie asked her simply, meeting Phyllis eyes in the overhead mirror, her concern evident.

Phyllis nodded and climbed out herself.

By the time the car pulled away, Joseph had found his key. He smiled weakly at her and, she did not know why she did it, she slipped her hand over his and took the key from him, letting them both into the building.

She switched on the light too as they entered their flat, and he closed the door behind them. There was a deep silence for a long moment.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, because it was what she was wondering; it was the corrosive worry gnawing away at her.

"I think so," he replied, "Quite tired though."

She let out a quiet sigh. Somehow she had been expecting him to say that. He was already turning, making his way in the direction of their bedroom. She stood still with her hand resting on the surface of the table.

"Joseph," she said to him, the tone of her voice making him halt, "Please talk to me."

She heard him sigh too.

"I want to help you," she told him, feeling so helpless herself.

But he did turn back towards her.

"You do help me," he told her.

"I know," she replied softly, "But it's not enough. I want you to talk to me. I need you to talk to me."

He sighed, averting his eyes from her but she was quicker, she stepped forwards engaging him again before he could think about it.

"I can try as much as I like to help you like I have been doing," she told him, "And I wish it was enough, I wish I could only do what you want me too. But I thought you were recovering, Joseph, I thought we were making progress, and then you-…"

"I'm sorry if I've let you down," he told her seriously, looking at the floor.

"Of course you haven't let me down!" she took another step forward, reaching for his hands, holding tightly onto them both, "You haven't let me down at all. I just wish I'd known you weren't recovering like I thought you were. It's me who's let you down, if anything."

"No," he said softly, "No."

"Joseph, look at me, please. Please."

He looked up at her. His eyes were full of pain. For a split second she almost wished she hadn't asked him.

"I need you to talk to me," she told him firmly, "I think it's what is going to help you and it's certainly going to help me not to fuck up again and take you to into situations you can't cope with yet. And that doesn't make you weak," she added, seeing a slight shift in his face, "Anything but. I need you to tell me, sweetheart," she told him softly, "The truth is, I really don't think we can go on like this. I need you to talk to me about it."

"The thing is," he began, his voice trembling a little, "I don't feel like things will be the same between us, if I do tell you."

"No," she insisted, her hands moving to his face, cupping his cheek, stroking his skin in something close to desperation, "No, they absolutely will be. Don't you remember, we used to know everything about each other? Talking to me will bring you back to me."

"But that's just it," he told her in reply, speaking quietly, looking into her eyes as she still clutched at his cheeks, "You think of us as perfect together, as all-sharing, and maybe we were then."

"Can't we be like that again?" she asked him, "I don't want to let them take that away from us."

"I don't know if we have a choice," he said softly, "You don't know how I thought of you during that time."

She did not know what to say, and he continued.

"I thought of you," he told her, his eyes falling shut, "I thought of you the whole time, while they did dreadful things to me. And you carried me through it. You did. But in all that, your face became the face of all of the pain too, and that was only made worse by the fact that I missed you like hell too. And that's why it's hard to talk to you about what happened. Do you understand? See, look, you're crying even now-…"

Was she? Oh god, she was. She mopped furiously at her eyes, blotting her vision inadvertently as she tried to attend to her tears. He stroked them away with a firm sweep of his thumb.

"Imagine how you'd feel if I actually told you what had happened," he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear for her, "If I told you all the details about what they'd done to me, and when I cracked, and when I called out thinking you were there, wishing that you were. I want to spare you that. I don't want the way you see me to be ruined too."

She wiped her eyes again, her brow furrowing into a frown.

"Is the way you see me ruined?" she asked him.

"It's changed," he replied a moment later, his tone measured.

It was like a blow straight to her chest. She stood and stared at him for a moment. He wasn't touching her any more, and her heart did not seem to be beating evenly. If at all.

"Are you going to leave me?" the words choked in her throat as she spoke.

No, it was he frowned, who looked utterly astonished.

"What?" he asked her, "Phil, no! No!"

He was grabbing hold of her hands again, pulling her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder.

"I still love you," he told her quietly, his face pressed close against hers.

"Shit," she said, "Shit. I shouldn't have said that. Why did I say that? Why the fuck did I say that?"

"Because you were scared," he replied, "Because I spoke without thinking-…"

"Only because I asked you to," she reminded him, "Shit, shit, I'm so fucking stupid."

"Liss, you're not," his hand reached up into her hair, soothing her head a little as he stroked her with the tips of his fingers, "You've tried to help me and I've been selfish not to try to help you in return. It should be you who wants to leave me."

"Never," she told him thickly, holding him tighter.

"Forgive me?" he murmured to her, his voice cracking.

"Of course," she replied, "I'll forgive you anything as long as you stay. I love you," it was her who was jabbering away now, as if it was her having the panic attack, "I love you. Don't leave me. Don't leave me."

He held her a little bit more tightly.

"I won't leave you, Lissy," he told her, "I promise I won't leave you."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you so much for your reviews so far. I really hope you're still enjoying this- let me know what you think.**

They decided they weren't sober enough to take his car back up the Woodstock Road, so, idiotically, they took her bike, taking turns to ride it at first, then, when running to keep up with the other became too much, she sat far back on the seat, holding on to his waist, while he worked the pedals.

When they got back to the house, locking the bike up was by necessity a collaborative process. They stumbled through the front door, still laughing at themselves. By instinct, he helped her off with her coat. She met his eyes as he slipped his thumbs under the shoulders to push it off, and as she shrugged the sleeves off her arms, she reached for him, pulling him towards her. She reached up and kissed him and was met immediately by his eager responses. She sighed a little with relief- she obviously wasn't tipsy enough not to be nervous. Good, she thought. She did not want to be too drunk to remember this, whatever happened next.

"Hang on," he told her, pulling away gently, slipping his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a neatly folded, clean white handkerchief, "You're going to get your lipstick on your chin if we go on like this much longer. Lovely as it looks."

"You came prepared?" she asked, accepting it from his hands and dabbing the red off her lips.

He grinned bashfully.

"It never hurts to," he replied.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed, "You're right. Here," she reach up, dabbing at his mouth too, "I got some on you."

She handed the handkerchief back to him a second later and he slipped it back into his pocket, half a moment before she pressed her mouth back to his again.

They had kissed before, but it had never been like this. Before it had just been a bit of fun. This did not feel like a bit of fun; it was something else. It was intense, it was passionate. Fun was the wrong word altogether. It was incredible.

They broke apart, and it seemed to suddenly occur to them both that they were standing in the hallway of their house kisses each other's faces off when any one of their friends could potentially walk in. Except maybe Glynis, who was almost certainly still unconscious.

"Do you want to come up to my room?" she asked him.

He looked hesitant for a second and she added; "Only if you want to. It's not like you haven't been there before."

"I want to," he replied softly, looking at her incredibly tenderly and, she realised a moment later when he spoke again, bravely, "But I think I want more too, Phil."

"That's alright," she assured him, the corners of her mouth perking up into a smile, "That's more than alright, because I want more as well."

She watched a disbelieving smile blossom on his face too. She offered him her hand and he took it, and she gave it a soft, encouraging squeeze.

"My room?" she asked, and he nodded fervently.

Once they were there, she shut the door and locked it, at both of the locks.

"I don't want anyone to disturb us," she told him as she turned back towards him, her voice determined and emphatic.

He grinned back at her.

"Fair enough," he agreed, "I'm not mad keen on being interrupted either."

"Good," she replied, stepping back towards him, reaching out her arms with another little smile, "Will you kiss me like that again?"

"Of course," he replied quietly, wrapping his arms firmly around her as she came back to him, "If that's what you want."

"Yes," she murmured, almost against his lips, "It is."

They kissed for long, long minutes, barely pausing. She unfastened his tie and let it fall onto her floor, nudged him in the direction of her bed and he went willingly. Her hands on his shirt front, she pulled him flush against herself allowing herself to fall back onto the duvet with the force of it, laughing a little at the look of surprise on his face. She lay on her back for a moment looking up at his face.

"This is really nice," she told him, "I'm really glad you're here with me like this."

He leant forwards and kissed her on the forehead, and she let out a contented sigh.

"I'm glad you like it," he told her softly, "That's all I want, to make you happy."

Her heart swelled and she beamed up at him, slipping her hands under his jacket, encouraging him to take it off.

"What are you thinking, Joe?" she asked him quietly when he'd done so and it lay on her floor with his tie. He lay, half over her, half beside her.

"I'm thinking that I can't believe this is happening," he replied, "I'm thinking," he admitted, "That I fancy you like mad," she laughed softly, "I want us to be more than friends, Phil," he told her, looking down at her, his brown eyes meeting hers, "And I know it's soon," he seemed to swallow a lump in his throat, "But I think this is the real thing. I think I'm falling in love with you, Phyllis."

"It's not really that soon," she told him softly, tracing a pattern on his shoulder through his shirt, "We've known each other since we were eighteen."

His eyes close heavily.

"You don't mind me saying all of this to you, do you?" he asked tentatively.

"How could I mind?" she asked, "Oh my god, Joe! You say the daftest things sometimes!"

"I know," he replied, "I'm sorry."

She grinned up at him, shaking her head a little. She couldn't help it.

"You idiot," she told him, "You bloody fool. I've loved you since I woke up next to you."

"Have you?" he asked incredulously, and she nodded.

"So more fool me," she told him quietly, "If you're rushing in then I certainly am."

He pressed his lips fervently to hers and she welcomed him, parting her lips against his. Her hands stroked through his hair.

"Will you stay here again tonight?" she asked him softly, "And before you ask, I want you to. Of course I want you."

"Alright," he replied, the smile audible in his voice. His face was too close for hers to see it, and he pressed another quick kiss to her lips.

Her hands raised suddenly, working on the buttons of his shirt. He helped her, and soon it was on the floor too.

"Hang on," she told him gently, pushing on his shoulders a little, encouraging him to flip them over so that she had a clear view of his chest, so she could stroke her hand gently over his skin. His eyes followed her fingers, followed the gaze of her eyes. A moment later, she raised up her arms, showing him the zip down the side of her dress, hidden under arm. He obliged, tugging the zip down, raising her dress up from her legs, over her head and off.

She heard his breath catch.

"Fucking hell, Phyllis," he murmured.

She hadn't been wearing a bra underneath. She laughed softly at his sheer astonishment as he took in her body. When he did not stop staring, she was moved to question, though:

"You have seen a naked woman before, haven't you Joe?"

"Only once or twice."

She was brought up short. The look on his face, his voice, suggested that it wasn't false modesty. He seemed to swallow through a lump in his throat again.

"No one as gorgeous as you are," he told her softly.

She leant down over him, her lips close to his.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

He leant up a little off the bed, capturing her lips, his arms pulling her body closer to his. He pushed up, rolling them over again, nearly toppling her out of bed, pulling back and shuffling across at the last moment.

"Shit," he murmured, "Forgot it was a single for a second."

She smiled up at him.

"That's alright," she replied.

He kissed her again.

"I love you," he whispered.

She smiled again, thinking how that confession had evolved over the last few minutes.

"Are you becoming more sure?" she asked him, the hint of a tease in her voice.

"Yes," he replied levelly.

As he kissed her again, she lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. She heard him groan, felt him.

She met his eyes.

"Do you want to?' she asked him simply.

"Yes," he told her again, immediately.

"Now?" she asked, her voice teasing again, just a little.

"Oh god, yes, please, Phyllis."

A second later, his hand was in her knickers, feeling her gently; running his hand against her and then tracing circles. Her mouth fell open and she gave a deep sigh.

"Yes," she heard herself murmur appreciatively, "Yes, like that."

She pulled his lips back down to hers, kissing him as he rubbed against her. Gently, he pushed a finger inside her and she groaned throatily, her grip on his shoulder tightening a little. He was kissing her collarbone and then her breasts. God, she had never enjoyed sex as much as this before.

"How does that feel?" he asked her softly, lifting his head to look at her face.

"So good," she told him, "So good, Joe."

She saw a smile spread across his face. He pressed his finger a little harder against her, and she moaned as her hips rocked upwards towards him;

"Joe," she told him, "Joe, I want you. Please."

A second later, he was gone from her. She sat up quickly, slipping her knickers off as he stood up and removed his trousers.

He lay back down on top of her, and she wrapped him back up in her arms. He pushed into her as gently as he could, the look of concentration on his face was intense.

Inside her to the hilt, he paused for a moment, planting a kiss on her forehead, and it was that which made her tell him again, "I love you."

He looked so happy as he looked down at her.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked her.

She nodded.

As he began to move, her arms wound up over his back, holding him tightly as she rocked with him. His face was buried in the crook of his neck.

They had both finished and lay in an exhausted, trembling heap, when she murmured to him, her breath only just levelling out;

"I think we should be together."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	15. Chapter 15

**2015**

When she woke up, she lay there, just lay there for a bit, looking at his face in profile for a little while. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was still in the way of waking up earlier than her.

"Joe," she asked him very quietly, "You awake?"

"Yes," he replied her, turning his head to look at her, "I was waiting for you to wake up."

He'd moved closer to her and she reached out her arm, touching his chest and his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry about last night," she told him softly.

"It's ok," he told her in reply, "It doesn't matter."

"It does," she insisted quietly, "I shouldn't have said what I said to you. I shouldn't."

He rolled onto his side to face her, reaching out, caressing the bare skin at the top of her arms, below the straps of the tank top she had slept in.

"I'd frightened you," he told her gently, "I know exactly why you said what you did. You don't need to explain and you don't need to say sorry."

She closed her eyes heavily. She was still reaching out for him, her hands on the front of his T-shirt, but she could hardly look at him. But his fingers were under her chin, carefully tipping her head back up, asking her to look at him again.

"I'm not going to leave you," he told her, softly but very very firmly, "I'm not going to leave you, Phyllis. I love you. I love you more than I could ever have imagined loving someone."

"But what you said last night-…" she reminded him, "About the way you thought of me-…"

He shook his head gently.

"That was when I was in Russia, when I didn't have you, when I didn't see you every day," he told her softly, leaning closer to her, lowering his voice, "Every day I look at you now and I see how insane I was to ever let anything corrupt the way I see you. You're so good, you're so clever, you're so funny, you're so so beautiful, Phyllis-… I was so wrong, I must have been insane. You're all I've ever wanted," he lifted her hand from his own chest, cupping it gently in his, kissing it, "I love you so much. Oh, my darling, please don't cry-…"

Oh fuck, she was crying again. He raised his hand to her cheeks, brushing the tears away. She leant closer to him, wrapping her arms around his body, burying her face against his shirt front. She was sobbing now. His face rested gently in her hair.

"Shhh," he told her, "It's alright. It's alright."

"Oh my god," she murmured breathily, as her tears subsided a little, "I love you, Joseph, I love you so much."

She heard him sniff a little as he smiled.

"That's alright too," he replied, kissing the top of her head again.

She sniffed too, lifting her head from his chest to look at him.

"Sorry," she told him, "I never used to cry like this."

"Don't apologise," he told her in reply.

She wiped her eyes a little fretfully.

"I didn't even cry like this when you were gone," she said, "It's only now you're back."

He grinned a little.

"I'm sure that can't bode well," he teased her.

Her hand rested on the front of his T-Shirt again.

"I missed you so much," she murmured, "So much."

"Listen, love," he told her gently, scooping her hand up and holding it gently in his, "I had a long think last night. About you; and about me talking to you. You're right; you do need it, it is what you need. And you're right, I've been selfish to ignore that for this long."

"Please," she told him, "Don't listen to anything I said. I was so selfish myself to say any of that to you. Please, Joseph-…"

"But you were right," he insisted, "We do need to talk about it."

She was silent, looking at his face, still half reaching out for him.

"Tonight," he told her, "I'll make dinner, you bring us a bottle of wine. We'll talk. Alright?"

She blinked up at him.

"Only if you're sure," she replied, "Only if you really want to do this, and you're not just torturing yourself for me."

"It will be difficult," he replied after a moment, "It will be very hard. But you're right. We have to do this. For us."

Her hand reached up and cupped his face, soothing over his cheek.

"Have I told you how proud of you I am?" she asked him, "Have I told you how lucky I feel to have you?"

He nuzzled closer to her.

"Yes," he replied gently, "Not in so many words, though."

His mouth met hers gently, his tongue moving between her lips and exploring her tenderly. She gave a very soft groan. Her hands were beneath his T-Shirt, touching the warmth of his stomach, his chest. Her legs

But he pulled lips back a little then, slowing them down for a moment.

"Do you remember the first time we did this?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied, smiling, "You nearly tipped me out of bed."

"Did I?" he replied grinning, "Your bed was too small."

"Yes," she agreed, "It was," she closed her eyes, smiling, "The rest of it was nice, though."

She was remembering the feeling of his inside her for the first time; realising for the first time that sex could be really good. She was remembering waking up and finding love bites all over her collarbone. His hands were on her waist now, he was kissing her neck.

"Joe," she murmured, "Make love to me please."

He pushed her softly onto her back, resting over her on his arms. He kissed her languidly, he pressed his hips against her- she could feel him hardening against her thigh.

He lifted her tank top off her, kissing his way down her body, pushing down her pyjama trousers. Guiding her legs to drape over his shoulders, he rested for moment, his head on her stomach, tucked against the top of her thigh as he brushed his fingers lightly against her.

"Joe," she murmured softly, "That feels so nice."

And he was kissing her thighs, softly at first and then more firmly. He was pushing his tongue between her folds. She gave a long, deep sigh that turned into a moan as he pressed his tongue inside her. Her hand was gripping the bedsheet, pulling it tightly into her fist. He did it again. Her thighs were clamping around his ears.

And then, he stopped, moved back up her body, kissed her on the mouth so she could taste herself. She moaned against his mouth, feeling him rock against her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"What do you think?" she replied between laboured breaths, "Of course I am."

He smiled softly, kissing her forehead.

"I love you, Phyllis," he told, "I love you so much."

Her hand clasped the back, the top of his shoulder.

"Joseph, please, I want you."

He smiled at her again, brushing his lips softly against hers, again. He rolled his hips against hers and she could feel him hard against her.

"Please."

And then he was inside her. Her eyes feel shut. He was still.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her calmly.

She opened her eyes.

"How good this feels," she murmured, her voice deep and hoarse, "How good you are. How much I love you-…."

He kissed her deeply, moving inside her and she groaned.

"We're going to be alright, aren't we?" he told her, moving again.

Her eyes opened, her hand cupping his face.

"Yes, we are," she replied, "Of course we are."

His hands traced over the top of her shoulders, her collarbone as he kept moving. He was becoming breathless.

"You are the best thing in my life," he told her.

His eyes were so candid, so adoring. She reached up, capturing his lips.

"I love you so much."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry I've been so slack this week, term ha started again and I've been super busy. I really hope you like this chapter- I wrote it in my head walking around London last weekend.**

**1996**

It was a year since they had left Oxford; six months of training had passed before either of them could stop to think, and now they were six months into working in counter-terrorism. And, for what seemed the first time in that year, they were both at home at the same time when the sun was still out. It was Friday evening. Joe had got home first and made them both some pasta. They sat beside each other on their sofa as they ate.

As he finished his food, he looked at her pensively.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"Do you think we should look for somewhere else to live?"

"You getting sick of me, Molesley?" she asked him, half-joking. But she could not deny, the thought had nagged at her a bit. It was definitely intense, living together and working together like this. Some nights, if she had to stay later, she came home and found him flat out on the sofa, trying to wait for her, and she would decide that she preferred his presence to the comfort of a bed and curl up there with him. It _was _intense, but she didn't like the idea of coming home to an empty flat.

"What?" he asked her, surprised, "No. I mean, we should find somewhere together. Somewhere nicer."

She glanced across at him, studying his face.

"Oh right," she replied softly, "It's just, you know, us living together was only meant to be temporary."

And it had been, mainly because of the expense of them both living in London before they were on a full salary. That had been how they'd justified it to themselves so early in their relationship. The fact that it was infinitely preferable to every other possible arrangement in every way had also helped. They had taken this little flat above a shop, and had to massively haggle over the rent. But it had been worth it.

"I know," he told her, "But I think it works. I definitely don't want to stop."

She smiled at him softly.

"That's good," she replied, "I don't want to stop either."

There was a moment's pause.

"If we didn't there would be no one to wake you up in the morning," she pointed out, "And chase you downstairs to the tube station every day."

"That's true," he agreed, "Charles would be cross with me."

She grinned at him.

There was another silence.

"You realise if we find a place together, we'll be living together properly?" she asked him.

"As opposed to our currently very indecisive state of cohabitation?" he asked in reply.

She rolled her eyes just a little bit, snorting softly at his joke.

"It was only ever meant to be temporary," she reminded him again, wanting to explain herself, "We actually have separate bedrooms here."

"I don't think I've spent a single night in mine," he replied thoughtfully.

She smiled.

"You haven't," she told him.

She gave a wry sniff.

"We really fucked ourselves over when we were choosing this place, didn't we?" she remarked, rubbing her forehead a little with her hand, "We could have easily made do with the one bedroom."

"It would seem so," he agreed reluctantly.

Another pause.

He was looking at her very closely.

"Does it freak you out that we're going to be living together for good after we've only been together a year?" he asked her gently.

She sat and thought about the question seriously for a moment.

"No," she replied, then, "I think it freaks me out that the idea itself doesn't freak me out-…"

He laughed gently.

"I love you," she told him softly, "I like living with you. I want to keep living with you. For good."

He was grinning. He didn't seem to be able to help it. It made her smile too.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied, "I'm just thinking how happy I am. And it's not too soon," he continued, "To me it feels right."

She nodded.

"Yes it does," she replied, happily, thoughtfully, "It feels right that we stay together, for as long as we can."

"If I didn't know you better, Baxter, I'd say you were asking me to marry you."

Somehow, she wasn't shocked that he said it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the thought had been popping into her head with increasing frequency of late. His eyes settled on her face, and seemed to widen.

"Do you want to get married?" he asked her in astonishment.

"Would it be a terrible thing if I did?" she wondered out load.

"To me?" he asked, his voice raising, making her laugh in spite of herself.

"Well, not to anyone else."

He was silent for a few moments, seeming to think very hard.

"Alright," he declared after a moment, very confidently, "Let's get married!"

"What?" she asked, very taken aback, "Have you gone mad?"

"It was you who just suggested it!" he told her defensively.

"I just asked if it would be so bad if I'd thought about it!" she replied.

They were quiet for a few moments.

An amused smile flitted onto her face.

"Did you really just ask me to marry you?" she asked him.

"Actually, I think I told you we were going to get married," he replied. He looked almost shellshocked by the exchange.

She burst into hysterical laughter. He looked at her incredulously for a moment before he broke down too; leaning against her, clasping his hand to his side as he laughed too.

"I think we're both overtired," she suggested, her laughter not quite waring off yet.

"Probably," he agreed.

She settled her feet on the floor and he lay back against her legs, resting his head in her lap, looking up at her.

She waited a beat, biting her bottom lip, gazing down at him. It felt so right.

"I think we should get married," she told him.

"What? But you just said I was mad a minute ago," he reminded her, "When I told you the same thing."

"I don't care if you're mad," she told him, "If we're both mad. I love you."

He was staring up at her, blinking slowly. Her hand softly brushed his cheek.

"We don't have to do it straight away," she told him softly, "But I want to, one day. I want to marry you. I hope that's alright."

"Of course it's alright," he replied gently, looking plaintively up at her, "I think it's a very good idea."

The corners of her mouth perked upwards.

"Good," she replied softly.

"This is probably the craziest thing we've ever decided to do," he pointed out very very calmly.

"Shit, you're right, it is," she agreed, "And we joined the security services. Fucking hell," she breathed, "This is insane."

But she was grinning. She was beaming broadly.

"But you've always been insane," he told her, still gazing up at her, "Brilliant, beautiful-… but deeply unsettled. And I really want to marry you."

She looked down at him, her eyes wide, wanting to take the whole of him in.

"Do you?"

"Yes, more than anything."

Bowing her head down, her mouth met his and she kissed him deeply, tenderly.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	17. Chapter 17

**I'm so sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've been super-crazy busy. I really hope you like this. **

**2015**

"Do you think I need to wear this tie?" Joe asked her, for the second time, fidgeting with it in the overhead mirror of her car the moment Phyllis had finished parking up.

Phyllis rolled her eyes just a little looking across at him in the passenger seat.

"I told you you didn't when we were at home," she told him again, "It's alright," she said again soothingly, "No one expects you to be too smart! It's just a little after work thing, that's it."

"I know," he replied, pulling his tie off and sounding a little defeated, "Just I've never met your work friends before. I don't want them to think you're married to a sack of crap."

"Oh, they won't think that," she explained calmly, "Just imagine, I've been going to these staff social things for seven years, all the time insisting I did have a husband. They'll be shocked enough to find that you do exist."

He snorted a little, the humour not enough to make him smile. She looked at him closely, wanting to know if he was alright.

"Which line did you spin them?" he wanted to know.

"That I was in the Department of Education between Oxford and teaching," she replied, "You're in consulting and work away a lot."

"Well, the last half of that was definitely true," he replied.

"Are you alright?" she asked him softly, frowning so deeply that it almost gave her a headache, "Because we can go home if you're not. I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I want to," he insisted, "We can't have all your friends thinking that you've invented a husband."

He gave her a little smile, and she grinned back at him then leant across towards his seat, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"You look very handsome," she told him, leaning back to push the car door open, getting out.

They were parked in front of a large Islington House.

"Bloody hell," Joe's head popped up over the roof of his car, "That is a _nice _house."

"Yeah, it is," Phyllis agreed, "Cora's husband is something big high up in the government."

"That would explain it," Joe replied, closing the door of the car.

Phyllis stretched out her hand for his.

"Come on," she told him, "Let's go. It's just as nice inside."

There were other cars filling up the drive, and they made their way through them up to the door. Stepping up onto the doorstep, Phyllis rang the doorbell and waited. She squeezed Joe's hand gently.

When the door opened at first both of them looked straight ahead, confused that there seemed to be no one there. And then, from a little way about Phyllis' knee-height came a joyful shout:

"PHYLLIS!"

Phyllis grinned, bending down and scooping up the little girl who had come to the door in a hug.

"Hello, my love, how are you?" she asked.

The little girl's arms were wrapped around her neck, hugging her tightly.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you in a while," she told her, "Did your grandma tell you I was busy?"

The little girl nodded, looking unhappy.

"I'm sorry, my love," she told her softly, "But I've brought someone special to meet you. This is my husband Joe," she told her, turning around a little so they could see each other a little better, "Joe, this is Sybil, Cora's granddaughter."

Joe offered his hand, bowing a little bit to the little girl.

"How do you do Miss Sybil?" he asked her.

Sybil giggled, taking his hand. She turned her head towards Phyllis.

"I like him," she told her conspiratorially.

Phyllis laughed.

"Good," she replied, "I like him too. Now, will you do me a favour, my love, and run and tell you're grandma that me and Joe are here? Can you do that for me?"

Sybil nodded eagerly.

"Good girl," Phyllis told her, setting her down on the floor, "Off you go."

Sybil set off at an uneven but impressive run across the hallway and throng the far door. Phyllis straightened up, pulling her top back into place where it had ridden up. She met Joe's eyes, grinning apologetically.

"You're very natural with her," he told her softly.

"She's lovely," Phyllis replied, "She's only four."

"How does she know you so well?" he asked her curiously.

"Because she's always around at our school," she told him, "She's too youngg just now but she'll probably be in my class next year, which will be hell on wheels, she's bright but very very precocious. The babysitter brings her round after play group and she comes and plays in my classroom rather than waiting in Cora's office," Phyllis paused for a second, "Her mother died when she was born."

"That's horrible," Joe murmured.

"Yes, it is," Phyllis agreed, "She was very young. She died when little Sybil was born."

"Christ," Joe murmured, "Poor kid."

Phyllis nodded sadly.

"Her name was Sybil too," she was quiet for a moment, "Cora looks after her a lot."

"It sounds like you do too," he replied.

"I don't mind," she replied, "I really like it actually."

"Phyllis," a voice came from the other side of the hall, from the door Sybil had disappeared through, "You're here!"

A woman was there, slender, dark haired, dressed in elegant casual clothes.

"Hello, Cora," Phyllis replied, "Thank you for asking us over."

Cora crossed over to Phyllis, kissing her on the cheek.

"It's my pleasure," she told her, smiling, "Is this your husband?"

"Yes, it is," she replied, "This is Joe, Cora."

"It's a pleasure to be able to meet you at last," Cora told Joe, shaking his hand.

"Thank you for inviting me," Joe answered, "It's very kind of you."

"Nonsense," Cora replied, "Do come through and let me find you a drink."

**…**

"There you are."

Phyllis was sitting on the edge of Cora's patio with a glass of wine in her hand when she heard Joe's voice.

"Sorry," she told him, turning towards him as he sat down beside her, "I fancied a bit of air."

"It's alright," he replied, "I was talking to your friend Beryl."

Phyllis snorted a little.

"I think you were quite the hit with Beryl," she told him, "Once she'd got over the shock of you being real."

He grinned.

"She did seem very surprised," he replied, "For a long time."

"Do you want some of this?" she asked him, holding out her glass of wine.

"Go on then," he replied, taking it form her, "Just a little bit. Cora's asked if we want to stay to dinner."

"That's nice of her," she replied, "She definitely likes you."

"I'm glad," he replied, "I know they all must find it very strange that they've never even met me before."

"And that's in no way your fault," she told him swiftly, "You of all people know that."

He paused for a second and then nodded firmly.

"You're right," he replied quietly, "You're right."

She reached over, taking his hand and squeezing it. They had talked about this when they'd discussed coming to Cora's at all, over their last food and talking evening.

"You were right," he told her softly, "It was a good idea for me to come to something with normal people who've had normal lives. Except then I think of Cora and her poor daughter," he continued thoughtfully, "No one really has a normal life, do they? We all end up with that exceptional thing to bear, don't we?"

Her thumb stroked over the back of his hand.

"I'm so proud of you," she told him quietly.

He glanced at her, smiling.

"Thank you," he replied softly.

There was a long silence.

"Phyllis," he began again after a while, "Can I ask you something?"

"Almost anything," she told him with a glimmer in her eye.

"Do you want to have a baby?"

She looked at him very taken aback by his question.

"Call me ridiculous-… And if I've got the wrong end of the stick just tell me straight. But seeing you with Sybil, it made me think, a lot. You're just-… so _good_ at it. You look so natural. And it looks like it makes you happy."

There was a silence.

A lump swelled in her throat a little and she had to push it down.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked him, "That I want to?"

It was good, she thought, to be able to finally voice the thoughts that had been creeping slowly into her mind, the sudden explosion of feelings that she'd been trying to leave unnoticed afraid that they would lead her astray into more pain. But they themselves had become a kind of pain. She was only shocked that he'd seen them in her when she'd been trying so hard to keep them under raps.

"You say it as if there's something wrong in it," he told her gently.

"I know," she told him, raising her hand to her face, "I just feel like such an idiot-… I've always been so adamant that that's something I didn't want."

"It is ok to change your mind, you know," he reminded her.

"I know," she replied vaguely, "Oh-… I don't know! When we were younger I thought it was a terrible idea."

"When we were younger we thought a lot of things," he told her, "Not all of which transpired to be correct."

"That's true," she agreed, "God knows."

"I don't know," he said, looking at her tenderly, "I feel like we've had enough chances taken from us. We shouldn't miss this if we don't want to."

"Oh, Joe," she murmured.

He took her hand back into his touching it carefully, and then squeezing it, very gently.

"It's alright," he whispered, "I'm asking because I want to have a baby with you," he told her quietly, "If that's what you want."

She looked at him very clearly. A smile was using at her lips.

"I don't know," she replied after a moment, "I need to think about it."

"I know," he agreed, "You're right, we do need to think, and talk, and plan. But in theory," he asked, "If you thought we could make things work-…?"

"Then I would be in," she told him firmly, "Yes."

"Alright," his other hand touched her cheek softly, "Then I will make it work for you. Let's have a baby."

**Please let me know what you think. **


	18. Chapter 18

**I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long, I've been busy and under quite a lot of strain but I'm still very much continuing with this story. Hope you still like it. **

**1999**

"Phyllis, have you got that report for me?" Elsie voice came from the next section of desks.

Phyllis glanced up hurriedly as she heard her superior approaching across the office. Turning momentarily back to her screen, she hastily placed the final full stop.

"I do now," she replied, "Just let me get a print out for you."

"That's alright," Elsie told her, leaning forwards on the edge of Phyllis' desk for a second, "Just send it through and I'll pick it up. What are you up to now?"

"Why?" Phyllis asked giving her a wily look, "Do you need someone to talk to that grouchy git Thomas in Section R again- because I can't I haven't got time."

"But you handle him so well," Elsie protested a little weakly.

"That's because I have a special affinity with grouchy gits," Phyllis replied, "Evidently."

Elsie snorted quietly.

"What are you up to now?" she enquired.

"I'm meeting Joe," Phyllis replied, "Speaking of which-…"

"It's not home time yet-…" Elsie reminded her, raising her eyebrow, "This is MI5, not MacDonalds."

"I know," Phyllis replied, "But while he's on secondment to GCHQ I'm his liaison officer. Perks of working with your husband. Or not actually working with him, as the case may be at the minute."

"Christ, I forgot he'd gone there," Elise replied, furrowing her brow, "How long is he there for?"

"As short a time as possible," Phyllis told her, "Cheltenham is driving him mad, he says it reminds him of living with his parents. And it turns out our flat is dull as paint without him there-…"

"I can have a word with Charles," Elsie told her, "Try to get him back a bit quicker for you."

"It would be great if you could," Phyllis told her, "I asked too, but Charles actually listens to you."

"I don't know about that," Elsie gave her a half rueful look, and Phyllis raised her eyebrow a little.

She decided to let it drop.

"I think Charles' concession was letting me be Joe's liaison," she replied, standing up, taking her coat off the back of her chair, "Speaking of which I should really go and liaise."

"You're right," Elsie told her, "Say hello to him from me. Tell him I hope he's well. Where are you meeting him?"

"Trafalgar Square," she replied.

"Good idea," Elsie replied, walking with her in the direction of the door and her desk, "Not far, plenty of other people, pop into the National Gallery if you need to."

"Joe prefers the Portrait Gallery," Phyllis told her softly, smiling to herself just a little, "I won't let myself be too long. See you went I get back."

"Alright, Phyllis. See you later. And don't forget," she called, making Phyllis stop as she headed towards the door and turn back towards her, "I know you haven't seen each other in a while, but remember, you never know who's going to see you."

"I know," Phyllis replied, trying to sound curt rather than rueful.

"Right," Elsie replied, "See you later."

She left Elsie back at her desk, keyed the code into the lock by the door at the end of the office and made her way down the stairs. Over the course of that distance she seemed to slowly let out a long, long sigh. But by the time she was out onto the the street she felt better. The outside world was cold, but clear and very bright. It was only two tube stops to Trafalgar Square, and she decided it was probably quicker to walk. The streets were only moderately busy, even this close to the centre of town and she made her way there without any trouble. A few times she slowed a little to catch a glimpse of herself in the window of a building or in a bus window as she waited to cross the road, checking to see how her hair looked.

When she got there, she knew where to look for him- up the steps and in the middle of the square, so that he could see the view down to Parliament Square. He was already there. They were both early. He was standing the direction he knew she would be coming from.

"Not very subtle," she told him as she drew closer to him, though pointedly keeping her distance, remembering what Elsie had said., "Waiting for me like that."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, a smile on his lips, "You could have taken the Underground. In which case, you have come from that direction," he pointed over his shoulder.

"You knew I wouldn't," she replied, smiling back.

They stood an awkward distance apart, both wanting to be closer, both remembering that there was a chance, however small, that they might be being watched.

"Even acquaintances kiss each other on the cheek," he pointed out after a moment, "Sometimes."

"You're right," she replied quickly, "They do."

She took a step closer towards him, pausing for a second before pressing her lips to his cheek. She lingered longer than a passing acquaintance would have, and he reached out hurriedly, squeezing her hand quickly as they broke apart.

"This is really appalling," she murmured softly, looking at the ground, "I hate not seeing you. I hate not being able to talk to you properly."

"I know, I hate it too," he replied, "But while I'm at GCHQ I'm technically a security risk."

"I wish Charles could have sent someone I'm not married to, though," she replied softly.

He smiled grimly.

"Well, I can't say I don't agree with you," he replied, "But what has to be done-… well, Charles said it wouldn't be for too long."

"It better not be," she murmured, turning her back to the view, leaning on the balustrade, looking ruefully up at the National Gallery, "Or it'll be me who is the risk to security- to Charles' personal security too, I might add."

He was laughing softly. She turned to look at his face. It was a luxury she had hardly appreciated before, being able to watch him look happy. He turned as she had and leant back too.

"So how is Cheltenham?" she asked him.

"Much as you'd expect," he replied, "Bloody dull."

"I meant the work," she told him gently.

"I meant the work too," he told her, "In fact, I'd hoped Charles had sent you to say I was coming back to London, but obviously-…"

She shook her head regretfully.

"I'm sorry," she told him, meaning it.

"I know you are," he replied, "But it's not your fault."

"Have you made any headway?" she asked him.

"I have actually," he replied, "And I have something for Charles. Do you have you bag?"

She nodded, dropping it off the opposite shoulder and holding it open for him. He slipped a copy of The Times out from under his arm, and extracted what looked like a greeting card envelope from between its pages and dropped it swiftly into the bag. The noise it made sounded like floppy disk- she left the bag open just long enough to identify it before closing it and tucking it onto her shoulder.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Love letter, was it?" she asked, referring to the very flimsy looking envelope.

"Brown envelopes are so indiscreet," he replied, "And believe me, Charles is the last person I feel like sending a love letter too at the minute."

A smile curled onto her lips, and she turned back towards him, only to find he was watching her intently.

"God, I miss you."

"We could go to a hotel."

She snorted more out of surprise than anything else.

"Fuck-…what?"

He smiled at her incredulity.

"That's the general idea, blunt summarised," he replied."

She laughed out loud.

"Joseph, for Christ's sake-…"

"Well, we can't go home-…" he began.

"Because you're a security risk," she reminded him.

"Because I'm a security risk," he agreed, "But we could go somewhere else-…"

She looked at him and bit her lip, hard.

"God, it's tempting," she told him, "Elsie would murder me, I said I wouldn't be long."

He sighed.

"It was probably a silly idea," he said sadly.

"I hate this," she told him again, "We're married, for the love of god, and we live in a free country, we shouldn't have to sneak around like-…"

"Yeah, but we're-…"

She looked at him abruptly and he stopped. She knew what he was about to say, and it was true. But you can't just announce that you're a spy in the middle of Trafalgar Square, however quietly.

"I know," she replied, swiftly but quietly.

Her hand reached out for a second and covered his. She could feel his wedding ring and had to draw her hand away.

"Elsie says she'll have a word with Charles," she told him, looking at the pavement again, "Try to get you back quicker. She says hello."

"That's nice of her," he replied, "Tell her I hope she's well."

"I will," she replied.

They were quiet for a few moments. Both knew that there was a need to keep this brief for all kinds of practical reasons, notwithstanding the fact that every moment she stayed it would only get harder to leave, and then they would be in Trafalgar Square all day and well into the night.

"I'll see that Charles gets this," she tapped her handbag, "I'll take it straight to him."

He nodded.

"Thanks," he told her.

His face was resigned.

"And the minute Charles says you can come back I'll let you know," she promised him, "Pigeon post or-… fucking smoke signals, I'll find away."

He grinned.

"There's always the telephone," he replied, "For the slower option."

"I love you," she murmured, very quietly, trying not to look took overtly emotional.

"You know I love you," he replied softly.

She smiled, nodded.

"I should get back."

He nodded in reply.

"Me too. There's a train I can catch if I'm quick."

"Alright," she replied, "Don't miss it for me."

He was still standing there, his arms open a little, as if to approach her, a little hesitant, a little unsure. She stepped forward, swiftly into his arms, giving him a hug and another kiss on the cheek.

"Goodbye my love," she murmured, and then turned to go.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Short chapter but I hope you like it. **

**2015**

It became a habit with them that they would never quite make it out of bed on Sundays until midday at the earliest. They had a more than valid reason for it now.

Joe lay with his body braced above hers, resting on his forearms, bowing his head, kissing her mouth. He had been doing it for what felt like hours now. They had stripped each other of their pyjamas as the gradually woke up, but somehow they had been completely sidetracked.

"Darling," she murmured to him quietly, leaning a fraction away from his lips for a moment, "Not that I'm not enjoying this, but it's not going to get me pregnant."

"Sorry," he murmured, kissing her again.

She smiled against his mouth when he showed no intention of stopping. He broke away and she gave a soft laugh.

"I just love you so much," he murmured, looking carefully down at her face, "I could do this for days. If my arms hold out."

She stroked his bicep appreciatively.

"So could I," she assured him, easing him gently, encouraging him to lie on his side and rest his arms, "I like this just as much as you do. But I'd also really like to have your baby."

There was light in his eyes as she said it, almost as if he still couldn't believe it. She leant towards him, kissing his mouth again, silently promising him it was true.

"I really want to have your baby," she whispered again, touching his face with her hand, lingering inches away from his lips.

"I pity the kid cursed with my hairline," he murmured ruefully.

She laughed gently, brushing her hand through his hair.

"It's alright, I've got very thick hair to make up for it."

"You have," he agreed, stroking the ends gently against her neck, stroking her skin too.

"I hope they don't have my awful posture," she said quietly after a moment.

"Your posture isn't awful," he told her, "You only think it is."

She shook her head.

"You can tell when I wear dresses with nothing on my shoulders-…"

He silenced her with another kiss.

"Shut up," he told her quietly, "You're being ridiculous. You couldn't be more beautiful."

He reached for her, holding her waist gently, pulling her flush against him. She groaned softly with surprise and pleasure. Her hands cupped his face, holding his mouth to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her still, burying her face against his.

She could feel him breathing and it was wonderful, and she fleetingly thought that even if they didn't have a child it would be worth it to be able to feel him against her like this whenever she wanted, so alive. But she wanted-…she wanted-…

"Christ, Joe," she murmured as his fingers graced down the line of her right shoulder blade, "I really want to have a baby with you."

He eased his hand gently against her breast, cupping it gently.

She moaned softly, holding his other hand in hers, lifting it to her other breast. She saw him smile. He cupped them both, kneading them firmly, watching admiringly as her head fell back with pleasure. The look on his face but her so at ease; his eyes were so tender, so loving, so admiring. It felt like that look had cradled her through the years, through making love after long absence, through all of her uncertainties, and she loved him for it, the way he was looking at her now, as he touched her-…

"I want to have everything with you, Phyllis," he murmured quietly, watching her, drawing his hands away a little so that she arched her body towards him.

She reached her hand out, resting her palm softly against his chest.

"You can," she murmured, "We can. I hope we can."

He smiled softly at her honesty.

His hands were wandering softly over her thighs, lying haphazardly one on top of the other next to his legs, close to his growing erection.

Slipping between her thighs, his fingers parted her legs. She groaned softly, placing the sole of her foot flat on the bed, bending her leg at the knee so his fingers could explore her. She had been ready for ages, but she wasn't about to complain about the way his fingers were opening her up, stroking her, gently at first and then more deeply. She let out a sigh that had been trapped deep within her chest.

She was aching for him.

He was kissing her neck, touching the corner between her neck and her collarbone tenderly with one hand as the fingers of his other hand buried inside her. He had rolled her onto her back again, he was over her again. She was going to make damned sure they didn't get distracted again.

"Joe-…" she murmured.

She rocked her hips forward brushing herself against him, and she saw his lips part as he groaned involuntarily.

"Now," she told him.

Her leg was bent at the knee, and his palm graced the inside of her thigh as he opened her a little further, making her shiver. She groaned with satisfaction as he pushed into her.

"Oh God," she murmured, "That feels good."

He kissed her forehead. Her legs lifted up, wrapping around his waist, pulling him further inside her, digging into his buttocks a little. Her arms wrapped over his back, holding onto his shoulders as he thrust gently into her.

She made a soft, inarticulate noise. Her eyes closed as he did it again.

"Christ!" she exclaimed as he tilted his hips a little further, hitting her in a particular spot, "Yes!"

Her breathing was becoming laboured.

"Do that again," she told him.

"Do you want it harder?" he asked her quietly, leaning over her so his lips were inches from his ear.

"Yes," she moaned.

He did as she asked.

"Fuck," she cursed quietly as her hips bucked up to meet his.

His hand stoked her hair. Their bodies were becoming clammy with sweat, and it spurned him on.

"Yes," she moaned, clutching his shoulders, arching her hips up to him as she came, "God, yes."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he finished. She felt him spill himself inside her, sighing quietly in satisfaction, clutching the back of his head as they collapsed together.

**Please review if you have the time. **


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